


Journal #4

by Percival_T_Honeybee



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Badass Grunkle Ford, Badass Grunkle Stan, Character Death, Gen, Gravity Falls Oregon, Grunkle Ford Needs A Hug, Grunkle Ford's Portal Adventures, IN SPACE!, Mullet Grunkle Stan, Pre-Gravity Falls, Sad Grunkle Stan, Science Fiction, Stan O' War, Stangst, The Journals (Gravity Falls), The Portal (Gravity Falls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 118,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percival_T_Honeybee/pseuds/Percival_T_Honeybee
Summary: In an alternate dimension where Stanley went with Ford into the Nightmare Realm, the two of them are separated in the vast multiverse. While Ford searches for a way to defeat Bill Cipher, Stanley looks for his brother and a way back home. The multiverse is an unpredictable, dangerous, and absurd place, but the Pines twins will have to find a way to adapt to it--or die trying.





	1. Somebody Once Told Me

I'd like to thank Human Customs Still Elude Me on FanFiction.net for beta reading this story. Couldn't have done this without them!

This story has been finished beforehand, so you can count on a chapter update every Friday. I don't usually post until late at night, so around 11:00 PM (MST). But every once in a while life circumstances get in the way, and I apologize in advance. 

If you're interested in listening to playlists that go along with this story, I have two of them available over at Soundcloud. One of them follows Ford's adventures, while the other follows Stanley's. Music is a huge inspiration for me. While writing this, I kinda felt an 80's synth pop vibe fit the time period and the sci-fi setting. 

[Ford's Side](https://soundcloud.com/sigmaelain/sets/journal-4-fords-side)

[Stanley's Side](https://soundcloud.com/sigmaelain/sets/journal-4-stanleys-side)

Thanks!

 

"Mistakes are the portals of discovery." - James Joyce

* * *

  

Ford had distanced himself from Stanley in every way possible, but in that moment, the only thing Ford wanted was to stop drifting away.

"Oh no! What do I do?"

Stanley's voice barely registered in Ford's ears. He was much more aware of the circle of white what was growing closer with every second, threatening to eat him alive. The gradual slip toward the portal felt like something out of Ford's nightmares. In seconds, he would be subjected to whatever drove Fiddleford to madness, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. For once, he had no solutions-the only thing he had was the journal in his hands.

"Stanley! Stanley, _do something_!"

In a last ditch effort, Ford threw the journal. It landed just outside the caution line at Stanley's feet.

Stanley grabbed journal. He looked up at Ford, the light of the portal reflected in his eyes.

The next thing Stanley did was beyond anything Ford could have predicted: he ran and jumped. He caught Ford's foot and held on as they both floated toward the unknown.

The action was enough to snap Ford out of his terror. "Stanley! What are you doing?"

"Something!"

Stanley's hand was tight like a python around Ford's boot as they passed through the haze of the portal.

The smell of burnt hair made Ford gag. The backdrop of this dimension--an assortment made up of acid green, putrid yellow, and Pepto-Bismol pink--swirled together like a purgatory for colors. The zero-gravity made Ford's stomach roll with nausea.

"YOU'RE AHEAD OF SCHEDULE, IQ."

Ford turned his head in the direction of the familiar voice and gasped. Bill Cipher sat on a throne amid his cronies close to them. The yellow triangle was dwarfed by his chair, but that didn't seem to matter to him or any of his goons. Bill's friends sat by his armrests, grinning at Ford and laughing as though this was all a practical joke.

None of it felt real. The creature that had plagued Ford's nightmares was there, meeting him face to face. Ford had nothing to fight with and no idea what to do.

Stanley's face was blank with shock. "Ford, what is that?"

Even if they weren't in the Nightmare Realm, Ford wouldn't know how to explain it all. How could he get Stanley to understand the terror and paranoia he'd lived in, all in fear that this creature would destroy the world while he slept. And it would all be his fault.

"WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE REALM. I'D INVITE YOU TO STAY FOR SOME PRIMORDIAL SOUP, BUT YOU'VE TURNED OUT TO BE A POOR INVESTMENT FOR WORLD DOMINATION. SHAME; I HAD BIG PLANS FOR YOU. BUT THERE'S ALWAYS ANOTHER GULLIBLE FOOL. JAZZ-HANDS, DO YOUR THING." Bill snapped his fingers. "DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE." On command, a spider made of two gigantic, hairy hands fused at the wrist pushed off the throne and floated through the void.

In a knee-jerk reaction, Ford kicked his foot free from Stanley's grip. The monster flew through the space between them.

Ford flipped around a few times before he hit a stationary asteroid. Latching onto it, he watched as the hand monster wiggled its fingers at Stanley.

Stanley noticed the monster and yelped, then tried to swim away through the zero-gravity. The monster tried to cage its fingers around him. Stanley kicked the monster's fingers and pushed himself away.

"Hah! Keep your hands to yourself, you creepy monster... thing..." Stanley said.

A white light cut through the air behind Stanley-a tear in the fabric of the universe. It pulsed with energy, threatening to change the course of everything.

Ford reached out a hand, unable to do anything as Stanley drifted closer to the tear.

Stanley turned around too late. He cried out as he disappeared into the glowing rift, vanishing from sight.

Ford hid behind the asteroid before the hand monster turned around. He listened to the laughter of Bill and his friends, his heart pounding. His fingers clawed at the rough texture of the asteroid as he tried to think of a solution.

He could only imagine where the rift had taken Stanley; the possibilities were endless. _He could be literally anywhere_ , he thought, _but he's probably safer than I am._

Ford peeked around the asteroid. Bill was still at the throne, but his goons had spread out to look for him.

"COME OUT, SIXER. WE JUST WANNA TALK."

Ford winced at Bill's screaming.

 _A rift might actually be the only way out. It's not ideal... it could take me_ anywhere. _But if it can get me out of here, I'll do it._

He looked across the shifting colors and found a smaller rip a ways off. It was far, but with a swift kick, Ford was ninety-percent confident he could make it through without being caught. With every second, the tear grew smaller; it would be gone in minutes.

With his jaw set, he waited for Bill's cronies to pass, then pushed off from the asteroid like a torpedo. The monsters shrieked and followed after him.

A creature with enormous jaws flew at him, but before it could bite down, Ford breached the surface of the portal. He floated through the blank space until gravity returned.

He hit the ground on his hands and knees _._ The rift closed behind him, plunging him into darkness.

Lights came on and illuminated an office area with a long table and rotating seats. A row of photographs was on the far wall; each portrait had unsmiling lips.

"Where... am I?"

"Security breach," said a loud voice. "Conference room 009. Security breach."

Ford ran to the door, but there wasn't a door handle. He ran a hand across its smooth surface, finding nothing that could help him. There wasn't another exit. The best he could do was look for a weapon, but the only thing he could find was a plate of doughnuts on the table. He grimaced and picked up the plate, prepared to attack someone with the saturated fat.

Two guards walked through the door brandishing guns. With a combination of body armor, high-tech weapons, and shiny black masks to conceal their faces, they looked like the least friendly security force Ford had ever encountered.

Both of them fired blue darts at Ford with a synchronized motion. Ford managed to block the darts with the plate of doughnuts. He tossed it at the guards, but they stepped aside, unfazed. The plate shattered against the wall.

One of them pulled out a second, smaller gun and approached Ford.

"Wait, stop!" Ford held up his hands. "This is a misunderstanding. I can explain everything."

The guard that approached lowered his gun as though he was going to say something. Ford dropped his hands, hopeful. As soon as he did, the guard lunged forward and pressed his weapon to Ford's neck. He felt a sharp pain, and then nothing.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

_Ford! Help me!_

Ford sat up and gasped, clutching bed sheets. An image of Stanley falling toward the rift clawed at him from beyond sleep. 

_Wait? Sleep?_

With a flash of panic, Ford swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his head. After having sleep as his enemy for weeks, it felt like surrender to snooze even for a second. 

_How long was I asleep?_

The side of his neck stung. He reached for the pain and rubbed; there wasn't any evidence of a wound--just an aching spot.

_The portal... Stanley... Did that really happen? Fighting over the journal, getting pushed into the portal... Where am I?_

Ford swiveled his head and squinted at the fuzzy, indistinct objects around him. He felt around for his glasses and found them on a nightstand.

For a moment, he wondered if he dreamt the encounter with Bill, but when he put his glasses on, he was met with an unfamiliar room. The bed he was sitting on was empty except for sheets, and the gray walls were bare. It was like a vacant apartment that had only a few essential furniture items.

The base of his skull buzzed, a sign that he was still sleep-deprived. His eyes darted around the room as he looked for potential threats. There was no evidence that Bill had possessed him, and from what the demon said, Ford was no longer a concern of his, but still...

He looked down at his hands and noticed a metal bracelet on his wrist. It didn't _seem_ dangerous, but it made him nervous all the same. Ford poked at the buttons on the complicated device, looking for a way to take it off. It was comfortable--so much so that he wouldn't have noticed it had it not crossed his line of sight.

_The guards probably put it on me while I was unconscious. Maybe it's a tracking device._

The bracelet wouldn't budge despite his best efforts. It was clamped firmly around his arm. 

_I need something to pry it off with. This place could have something useful lying around._

He stood up and peeked into the next room. The door was open, letting him see beyond into an empty, minimalist living room.

_Look's safe enough._

As soon as Ford entered the living room, there was a hissing sound, as though someone had opened a giant bottle of soda. He whipped around and grabbed the nearest weapon--a tacky lamp. The door to the apartment slid open.

Standing in the doorway was a man dressed in a suit. Two guards were at his side.

"Hello Stanford," the suited man said. He was distracted by the glowing clipboard in his hands. "Sorry for not knocking." The three of them walked in. The door closed behind them.

Ford backed up, wary.

The suited man looked up from his clipboard with bored, half-lidded eyes. His oily hair was slicked back, and he wore prominent frown lines on his face. "There's no need for violence, sir. You can call me Evanston."

Ford lowered the lamp and blinked, regaining his ability to speak. His questions bumped into each other in a hurry to get out. "What is this place? Where am I? And how do you know my name? What is this thing on my wrist?" He held his hand up.

Evanston breathed in slowly, then listed the answers to his questions in an impatient tone. "It only took a quick scan to identify you as the Stanford Pines from dimension 47'\\. As for where you are, this is dimension 83-C. You're on the P.S.S., or the Prometheus Space Station. And the thing around your wrist is a universal translator. Without it, you'd be hearing a different language coming from my mouth. Now, it's my turn to ask the questions. How did you get here?"

Ford was stunned for a moment by the information. Although new questions were threatening to overwhelm him, he put them aside for the time being.

"I was tricked by Bill Cipher into creating an interdimensional portal. I escaped through a rift and appeared here."

Evanston clutched his clipboard tight, as though we wasn't expecting this answer. "You... Bill Cipher... you made an interdimensional portal in a closed dimension?" He swallowed. "Is your portal still operational?"

"No. It closed after I... after I passed through. It's fuel reserves were depleted. It would take an enormous burst of energy to start it again."

Evanston relaxed. He shook his head and covered his face. "If what you say is true, then we were on the brink of disaster." He gave Ford a hard stare. "Just to confirm, you _are_ from a closed dimension--a dimension that doesn't have interdimensional travel. Is that correct?"

Ford nodded. "That's right."

"Then there's a lot you wouldn't know. Bill Cipher is one of the most feared beings in the multiverse. His dimension-the Nightmare Realm-is unstable. It will eventually collapse. I bet that's why he targeted you; he wanted your dimension for his own." Evanston seemed to be talking to himself more than Ford. He typed something into his clipboard. "The U.I.R. cracks down on rogue, unregistered portals because of that ever-present threat. Yours is an unstable disaster that leads directly to the Nightmare Realm. When we send you back to your home dimension, dismantle it."

"You're sending me back home?"

"Yes. You need to speak to Director Gunther first before we do anything, though."

"Director Gunther?"

"He's a part of the U.I.R. council and the one in charge of this station," Evanston said. "In fact, I'd like to take you to him now, if that's possible." He looked Ford up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance. After skipping sleep, showers, meals, and then being thrown into the Nightmare Realm, this was probably the hardest toll Ford's hygiene and sanity had taken.

Ford picked at his wrinkled shirt, suddenly uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Lead the way," he said.

The door opened again with a hiss. "Right this way." Evanston walked into the hall. Ford followed him, and the two guards fell in behind him.

They snaked through a series of corridors. As they came to a catwalk, Ford looked at the scene below with his mouth open.

The ground below was a mess of activity. There were hundreds of computers with monitors in orderly rows, and an employee at each one. The employees in black uniforms and headsets typed away, filling the room with the sound of clicking. Some of them talked, but Ford couldn't make out their conversations. 

A purple being with a body like a slug sat at one of the computers, wearing the same uniform as the others. It turned its head, letting Ford catch a glimpse of its strange features; its eyes were golden, and it had tendrils hanging from its mouth. Ford pulled in a breath through his nose.

"What is  _that_ creature, and what is it doing here?"

Evanston stopped walking and looked across the workers. "Oh, that's Tilum from the Hydroxean-8 dimension. We could use more like him to keep the alien inclusion activists happy, but change is slow when you're cut off from actual Republic civilization for so long."

 _A real, living alien..._ Ford stared at it, breathless. "Can we go down and talk to him? I have so many questions--"

"No," Evanston said. He kept walking, but Ford lingered behind, taking in the unusual scenery.

The most eye-catching part of the room was a blue, holographic rotating planet in the center. It was different from Earth; the surface was mostly covered by oceans with barren clumps of land. Stats and bar graphs that Ford couldn't make out sat next to it, with the name "Vesta" at the bottom of the hologram.

There were several other holograms below, but one in particular caught Ford's attention. It depicted the layout of a cylindrical structure, with boxes ringing the outside. Thousands of yellow dots moved around in the structure, like ants in a farm. To the side, there was title that said _Life Count_.

Until that moment, it hadn't sunk in that he was on an actual _space station._ He gripped handrail, feeling faint and giddy at the same time. For years, he wondered what it would be like to travel through space, and now he was there, with  _aliens._

As he looked over the edge, he noticed an emblem on the floor. The letters U, I and R were printed in bold lettering in the middle of simplified spiral galaxy.

"What do the letters U-I-R stand for?" Ford asked.

Evanston turned to wait for him at the end of the catwalk, his eyebrows pinched together. "The United Interstellar Republic. It's an intergalactic government that's spread over many dimensions. If we can continue, Director Gunther can answer any of your remaining questions."

Ford stepped away from the railing reluctantly and followed Evanston.

They walked down another hallway to a larger door. This one had the U.I.R. symbol spread across it. Evanston placed his thumb on a scanner. The scanner hummed, then beeped as the gigantic door parted in the middle.

Evanston entered the room first, the footfalls of his dress shoes echoing in the cavernous room. The walkway led to a single oversized desk with a plaque that said _**Director Ralph Gunther**_ on top. A wall-sized window that viewed Vesta sat behind the desk. The planet seemed peaceful, with greenish blue oceans and wispy clouds covering most of its surface.

 _I'm a long way from home_ , Ford thought. His mouth went dry as he studied the gold and blue planet. It was as though the office was designed to make him feel small and insignificant; between the unnecessarily large office and the planet framed above, Ford was keenly aware of how much of a speck he was to this new multiverse.

"Mr. Gunther, sir," said Evanston, "Stanford Pines is here."

The black chair behind the desk swiveled to face them. On the other side sat a tall, spindly man wearing an earpiece.

"Ah, Mr. Pines. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the only other seat in the room, which was a small chair right in front of his desk.

Ford sat down. There was a Newton's cradle within Ford's reach, so he set it in motion while he waited for Gunther to finish his earpiece conversation.

"I have another matter to take care of, Amanda," Gunther said. "We'll schedule this later." He pressed his earpiece and rubbed his forehead. "What a fiasco." He leaned forward made a tent with his fingers. His dull, black eyes regarded Ford with interest-a new problem to solve. "Sorry about that. I'm Ralph Gunther, the Director of this place. Evanston, you can leave now." He waved him away.

Evanston stiffened, then nodded, turning away with his guards in tow. Gunther watched them leave before continuing.

"So, I take it your experiment was a success. You've traveled to another dimension. How does it feel?"

"I've felt better," Ford said. "How do you know about my experiment?"

"It's not too hard to figure out. We've had a lot of closed dimensions open themselves up. Usually, it's because a curious scientist wants to push the limits. Am I wrong?"

"No, you're not," Ford said. He cast his eyes down at the shiny black surface of the desk and looked at Gunther's reflection instead of the real thing. It was difficult to look at Gunther for long; his face unnerved Ford. The lights overhead cast his hollow cheeks in shadows, and there was something eerie about the dark circles under his eyes. "Evanston told me that you want to send me back home."

"That's right."

"You can't do that. At least, not yet."

"Why not?"

Ford looked up. "Bill Cipher wants my home dimension and many others for his own. I can't let that happen. Let me go, and I'll find a way to stop him--once and for all."

Gunther laughed. Ford jumped at the harsh sound. It echoed in the spacious room. When the Newton's cradle stopped clacking, Gunther sent it going again. The ends of the cradle snapped.

"Mr. Pines, even if Bill Cipher had a weakness, it's unlikely that one person could do him in. Don't concern yourself with defeating him. He's contained in the Nightmare Realm for now, and eventually it will collapse, killing him inside. Let us send you back home. There's a portal hub on a nearby planet called Janus. I can arrange for a ship to take you there." The cradle lost its momentum. Gunther tapped his wrist, bringing up a holographic keyboard from his silver bracelet. He typed in a message and sent it.

Ford's face hardened. "This issue with Bill is my responsibility. I'm the reason my dimension is in danger. You can't just send me away."

Gunther didn't look up from his wrist. "You can't kill him. You're a fool for thinking it."

Ford's pulse quickened. He curled his toes in his shoes. "There's more than one reason why I can't go home. I lost my brother. We went into the Nightmare Realm together, but we were separated when Bill attacked us. I can't go home without him."

Gunther gave Ford a long look. "Do you know how lucky you were to land here, Mr. Pines?"

Ford didn't answer.

"Those rifts have the chance to take you _anywhere_ in the multiverse. The fact that you landed on our space station and not in the middle of space, or somewhere else dangerous, is a miracle."

"Are you saying my brother is dead?"

Gunther's lips pressed together, the answer in his dark eyes as he looked at Ford with pity. 

Ford gripped the edge of the table and leaned closer. "You don't know that! He could still be out there."

"I suppose. There's not much you can do for him now, though. If he's alive, there's no way you'll find him. It's like trying to find one number in a pile of infinity."

Ford sank lower in his chair. As much as he hated to admit it, Gunther had a point. It would be unthinkable to search for a lost person in even one universe. With many infinite universes, the odds were stacked against him.

Until then, Ford had been pushing away the idea that he might never see his brother again. There hadn't been a chance to breathe and think about it. Now that he had come face to face with the thought... he couldn't believe it. Just hours ago they had been fighting over his journal.

His eyes searched the stars behind Gunther's head, as though he could somehow find Stanley among them.

 _Stanley... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for things to end up like this._ A wave of frustration followed, mixing with his guilt.  _Agh! If only he hadn't pushed me! Now we're both in a predicament because of his selfish agendas._

Ford pushed away the feelings of frustration and despair. He needed a plan of action--some upside to this dark situation.  _I can't let them take me home_. _Bill Cipher will pay for this._

"This isn't a matter for debate," Gunther said. "We can't keep you here. A cargo ship will take you to Janus in ten hours."

Ford considered arguing, but going along with Gunther's orders was his best option. If they did take him to another planet, he could always find a way to escape. If he somehow used a portal they hadn't intended, then maybe it would be possible to get away.

Ford relaxed his face. "I have my reservations, but I understand."

Gunther looked at Ford with narrowed eyes. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page."

* * *

Vwdqohb frxog eh vdihu.


	2. I Ain't the Sharpest Tool

"There are two sides to every story and the truth usually lies somewhere in the middle." - Paul J. Alessi

* * *

Stanley was tossed around in nothingness, like pants in a washer, subject to the tide of the multiverse as he was pulled through the rift.

After not knowing which way was up, he was spat out above a sandy dune. Stanley hit the sand and rolled down the slope. The white tear disappeared with a flash--unpredictable and temperamental, never to appear in the same place again.

Stanley panted as the heat of the desert soaked through him. Dunes went on as far as he could see in every direction; it could've been the Sahara if not for the alien planet above him. The green gas planet loomed over the desert like an angry giant; storms raged across its surface.

He winced at the ache in his shoulder blade. He removed his jacket and passed his hand close to the wound Ford gave him. Whatever Ford had knocked him into had burned a hole through his jacket and t-shirt, leaving an angry welt on his skin. It wasn't life threatening--just painful. Already, it was scabbing over.

 _You ruined your own life._ Ford's words had left their own imprint. More than anything, Stanley just wanted to forget it all. Because of a few mistakes and some heated words, Stanley's life had again been flipped over as easily as a table, and now it was up to him to sort out the mess.

 _Joke's on me for thinking that Ford would want to make things right. While I've been trying to survive, he's had the time of his life, following his dreams and forgetting all about me._ Stanley felt a familiar ache in his chest. He brushed it aside and replaced it with a colder emotion. _Whatever._ _I can think about this later. All that matters right now is my own survival._

Shading his eyes from the sun, he scanned the horizon for any sign of civilization. There was a black, unusual shape picking its way across the sand. Stanley squinted at it, but without his glasses, it was little more than a black blob. On the one hand, the thing could be someone that could help him. On the other, it could be a hungry creature. From that distance, there was no way of knowing.

 _I might as well check it out._  He looked at the hot sand around him. _My only other option is wandering the desert._

The air rippled with heat. Sweat dripped down Stanley's temple. He wiped it away, then tied his hoodie into a makeshift turban. As he tied it, his shoulder blade screamed.

He kept walking across the shifting sand until the creature was close enough to make out its details. Stanley hid behind a dune and observed the beast. It was taller than a house with spindly appendages that ended in split toes, like camel feet. It had a glossy surface, and its metal legs kept it perfectly upright. There was a red cockpit window in the front and a pair of shorter appendages that looked like they were meant for grabbing things.

_It's a bug... robot... squid thing._

The machine stopped. With halting movements, it turned around to face Stanley. Stanley tensed, ready to run, but he didn't know if the thing has spotted him or not.

A hatch lowered, and the machine shot a net from its new "mouth." The net was gigantic; it covered Stanley and a twenty-foot radius around him. Stanley fell under the weight of the net, his back hitting the sand.

"Hey!"

The machine didn't respond. The net closed around him, weaving together and contracting until it was a cocoon around him. Stanley tried to pull himself free as the machine reeled him in, but the net threads were made of a braided metal that didn't give.

He was dragged upwards until the net reached the cool darkness of the machine's mouth. Stanley tried to get up, but all he managed was a wiggle. The cords around him pressed against his face. He strained against them and grunted, feeling a flutter of claustrophobic panic.

The restraints loosened like a muscle relaxing.

Stanley stood up and threw the net from him. "Eugh." There was a camera in the corner of the room. Stanley gave the camera a grimace. "Hey! Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to abduct strangers?"

The camera didn't respond.

The place was grungy, with dirty metal walls and a stained floor. Barred cells were on his right, most of them empty. On the very end was a prisoner, curled up as it slept. The creature was no bigger than a five-year-old, with green scales, a feathered head, and a tail.

When Stanley spoke, the creature woke up and turned to look at him. Although its face wasn't human--it had beak and a crown of feathers--Stanley could still tell that it was wearing a wide-eyed expression of fear.

The door to Stanley's left slid upward. Two figures in masks walked toward him with electric spears in hand. Their metal masks had spider-like eyes with toothy sneers.

Stanley backed away from them as they approached. "Whoa, hey now. There's no need to get so close with those... taser sticks."

The aliens jabbed their laser spears within inches of Stanley's face. Stanley backed away from the fizzing weapons. The aliens pushed him toward a cell while jabbering in a language that Stanley couldn't understand.

Stanley glared at them. "If you think I'm going to come quietly, you are--"

Stanley was interrupted by one of aliens tagging him in the stomach. A painful jolt went through him.

"Ouch! Right. That's what I meant to say--you are right. I'll go, just don't do that again."

He rubbed his stomach and entered the empty cell. They closed the door behind him and locked it with a key ring. As they left, they spoke to each other in excited chirrups.

The small alien got up and poked its head through the bars.

"Ti phel anouk?" it said.

Stanley raised an eyebrow. "Um, come again?"

The alien quirked its head. "No translator? That is... odd. You are... lucky... I am fluent... in over fifteen million languages." His words were halting, as though he was having trouble finding the words. "English is an...old language. I studied with the U.I.R for preaching... no, missionary work. I lost my translator. I can only speak a little."

"Sorry pal, you're gonna have to back up. Where am I? What's going on here?"

The alien gave him a slow blink. "I am Paz. What is your name?"

"I'm Stanley--Stanley Pines. And I'm from Earth."

"Which dimension?"

"I... I don't know."

"You do not know? How is that possible? Were you a slave?"

"No, that's not it. I just... well, to put it simply, where I'm from, this whole dimension traveling thing... it's not a thing, okay? It doesn't happen. This is my first out-of-dimension experience."

Stanley sat down in his cell and leaned against the bars. There was a rumble underneath him. Stanley put his hand to the ground and felt the vibration.

"Ah, we are moving again." Paz looked down with half-lidded eyes. "It will not be long now."

Stanley undid the turban on his head and tied the jacket around his waist. "What are you talking about?"

Paz leaned against the bars and closed his eyes. His words came easier the more he spoke. "The Festarian death matches. You are in Dimension Wakatir-70. This is the dimension that is home to the highest number of war-loving species. Right now, we are on our way to the death matches, where we will have to fight for our lives to predict the outcome of the upcoming Llamoran war. There is not much hope now."

Paz turned away from Stanley and muttered what Stanley assumed was a prayer under his breath. He made a triangle in the air with his fingers.

"May the Axolotl preserve us," he whispered.

Stanley folded his hands and twiddled his thumbs to release some nervous energy. He thought back on his fighting experience. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a fight--in fact, punching was a special talent of his. But he had no idea what kind of alien horrors he'd be facing in a death match. He already felt weak and tired.

 _There's gotta be a way to boost my odds. C'mon. Think of a way out of this, Stan._ His mind drew a blank.

The machine stopped. There was a hissing sound accompanied by the feeling of downward motion, as though the machine's center was a gigantic elevator.

Stanley got to his feet just as the aliens with masks walked through the door again. They opened Stanley's cell first and clapped a pair of restraints on his wrists. They released Paz, then yipped and motioned for Stanley to move ahead of them.

The aliens chattered at Stanley and pushed him with the butt of their spears. With bared teeth, Stanley walked down a ramp to the sunlight outside.

Stanley squinted at his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Vehicles of all kinds were gathered in the patch of desert. Some of them were big and imposing armored tanks. Others were sleeker and looked as though they were meant for burying in the sand like an earthworm. There were a few larger vehicles that looked like they were meant for flight.

A mountainous black dome sat in the center of the gathering. Other groups marched their own prisoners to the dome. The dark sphere gleamed under the sun.

Soon Stanley was shoulder to shoulder with other alien prisoners. He tried to keep his distance from the oddly shaped monstrosities, but they squished together as they passed through the vast doorway. Stanley stumbled and tried to pull away as he was shoved into a sweaty alien with four beefy arms. Its skin was dark and bumpy, and its face had red tentacles hanging from it. The four-armed alien gave Stanley an intense glare.

Stanley jumped away. "Yeesh! Watch it."

"Wabba kook!" It unrolled a tongue from its mess of tentacles and hissed.

Stanley shook his head. "Freakshow."

Paz whimpered beside Stanley. He was smaller than most of the aliens there, only reaching Stanley's waist. He cowered away from the others, his frail arms shaking. 

The aliens in front of him stopped. They were all different heights, some of them much larger than Stanley, so it was difficult to see what the hold up was. He stood on his tiptoes to see what was making them pause. The prisoners ahead shuffled into an elevator. Once the elevator was filled, it dropped down out of sight, then rose again, empty.

The masked aliens prodded Paz and him forward, then abandoned them. The rusty gate closed with a _screek._ Stanley was touching at least seven aliens in the packed space as the elevator descended; he could feel something sticky at his elbow, fur at his neck, and a spine was poking his leg. He tried to keep his breaths shallow, because the fleshy, roly-poly being in front of him smelled like urine. The aliens shifted in place, but said nothing. Paz trembled beside Stanley.

A red light appeared below and the elevator shuddered to a stop. The gate opened again, allowing the prisoners to pour into a new area.

The hallway looked as though it was carved from sandstone. Red emanated from the lights spaced down the hall, which led to a greater darkness. There were dozens of claw marks on the walls.

No one in the group wanted to walk down the hall first. They stalled at the entrance, some of them glancing at the elevator, which went back up to fetch more prisoners.

"Well, we can't just wait here," Stanley said. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna see where this tunnel leads."

Stanley tried to ignore the claw marks. He didn't know what he'd find at the end of the hall, but that didn't frighten him. In fact, taking risks had never bothered him--not like it should've. He could admit he had a hard time acknowledging consequences, for better or for worse. This was no different.

His eyes adjusted to the murkiness. Rows of open tubes were on both sides of the room, and a door sat ahead of him.

A pair of muscular, furry aliens armed with electric tridents came into the room through the door. Overall, they were unsightly creatures. Their arms were like sausages covered in brown fuzz, and they had multiple eyes like a spider. Their mouths opened and closed sideways, dripping saliva, and they had strange, ridged foreheads. They looked as though they could easily rip Stanley's arms off if they wanted to.

With low growls, they jabbed their tridents and directed Stanley to get into one of the tubes.

Stanley backed away. "Yikes! Watch it!"

One fur monster tried to jab Stanley with its trident, but Stanley twisted his body and managed to miss the attack. More guards came out of the door and crowded around Stanley, herding him into a tube. The door to his tube closed once he was inside. He sighed and pressed his hands against the glass.

The platform at Stanley's feet acted as an elevator, taking him to an unknown destination.

A small knot of anxiety pulsed in Stanley's gut. _This is it. This is how I'm going to die: forgotten in space, stabbed by aliens._

There was a faint buzzing above him--voices overlapping.

A light appeared above Stanley's head. He could now hear an alien announcing things with nonsense words.

The tube fell away and the platform raised Stanley above ground. He was indoors with bright lights shining down on him. The place was built like an arena with stands full of aliens. The whole thing reminded Stanley of boxing when he was younger. The expectant crowds, his sweaty palms... it was all familiar. But this time, his life was actually in danger.

Weapons were hung on the surrounding wall. Some of them looked familiar, like swords and guns, while others looked foreign. There was a glass ball beside him with green fire inside; it looked especially menacing.

Paz rose out of the ground beside him. He curled in on himself and shielded his head with his hands, shivering. Other aliens rose from their tubes in a row beside him. Each of them glanced around, confused and frightened.

"Hof enoy!" the announcer alien said. The crowd roared. Stanley watched the whole affair with narrowed eyes. "Giza glarsar deba sensey." The alien continued babbling.

Stanley lost interest and was caught off guard by a blaring siren.

The prisoners took off running toward the wall. Stanley followed them and sprinted to the nearest weapons.

He didn't want to pick a gun that he didn't know how to use--these guns looked very different from guns on Earth--so he grabbed something that looked like a black baseball bat with metal spikes. The weapon was lighter than it looked, and it made him feel unprepared for what was to come. Paz, who was standing a few feet away from him, was armed with a glowing gun and a purple see-through shield.

Once all the prisoners had picked a weapon, a cage lowered from above. The cage plopped to the ground and opened, letting loose ten opponents. They were all different shapes; some of them moved forward on all fours, while another towered above the prisoners on long legs. As they approached, Stanley realized what they really were.

"Robots?"

"I am going to hang back and let the cocky prisoners get killed first," Paz said. "Those androids look dangerous."

"Hang back?" Stanley said. "How is that going to help? Then they'll just pick us off one by one."

Some of the prisoners approached, but one of the robots raised a gun appendage and shot them down with plasma. Prisoners fell to the ground, their bodies smoking.

 _How can I get close to those things without getting mowed down?_ He searched the weapons. The orb of green fire caught his eye.

He ran to the wall and put a hand on the orb. It was cold to the touch and about the size of a beach ball. He pulled the heavy orb from its indent in the wall. With the orb tucked under his arm, he sprinted for the group of robots.

"Take cover!" Stanley shouted.

When the prisoners saw the orb, they scattered. He lobbed it at the center of the group, nailing one of the robots in the head. The robot recoiled, sparking, then snapped its attention to Stanley. The orb bounced away with a crack on its surface. The other robots watched the orb roll next to them silently, then looked up at Stanley.

"Huh, I thought it would be more breakable than that." Stanley swallowed as the robots stepped toward him.

Before they could get far, a prisoner shot the orb. The cracks in the orb spread and the fire within broke free, creating a gigantic explosion that engulfed the robots in green fire and smoke.

Stanley was blown back by the explosion. His back hit the ground, and there was a ringing in his ears. He got up, squinting at the mess. When the smoke cleared, Stanley could see that two robots had fallen to the ground, their insides spurting black liquid.

The other eight looked battered, but they were still standing. One of them came at Stanley.

Stanley backed away from the robot. "C'mon, can't we talk about this? Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?"

The robot raised his gun arm and pointed it at Stanley. With a gasp, Stanley leaped to the side to avoid the robot's fire. Short bursts of plasma hit the dirt behind Stanley as he ran. He heard a crash and the shooting stopped.

Stanley turned around. The lead robot was missing its gun arm. The robot stared at the stump, then at the fallen appendage with confusion. Paz had his gun pointed at the robot. He was breathing hard, the tip of his gun smoking.

Stanley bent over and rested his hands on his knees. "Thanks!"

"Stanley, watch out!" Paz yelled.

Stanley turned just in time to see one of the robots lunge forward with an energy sword. Stanley tried to sidestep, but he wasn't quick enough. The sword clipped Stanley's shoulder. He cried out and fell to the ground.

The robot swung again, but Stanley scooted away before it could land another hit. The sword hit the dirt with a crackle.

The robot's imposing silhouette stood over Stanley. It struck again. This time Stanley raised his spiky bat block it. As the weapons collided, the bat hissed. The crowd cheered.

The sword cut through the bat like an incredibly hot blade would cut anything. It slid through until it was cleanly in half.

Stanley stared at the halves of his bat in shock. They were white-hot where the sword had sliced.

The robot lunged again, this time going for a decapitation move. Stanley rolled just in time; the energy sword hummed as it passed through empty air.

A flash of light hit the robot, sending it reeling backwards.

There were several more flashes of plasma, followed by a spear that plunged through the robot's middle. Black liquid leaked from the robot's center. Its head twitched, then went still. Its glowing eyes turned from red to black.

Stanley looked behind him to see a yellow alien with tiger stripes and a group of prisoners approach. The alien extended a hand. Stanley took it.

"Um, thanks." Stanley rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're welcome," the alien said in perfect English. "I'm Gandhar."

"Stanley."

Gandhar turned to face to group and yelled something in a different language. The prisoners raised their weapons and screeched in agreement.

"Eja ho!" Gandhar pointed to a robot with his gun.

With Gandhar taking the lead, the group ran in unison to the robot with a chainsaw. They surrounded it and beat it into the dirt. When they backed away, the robot was limp on the ground with its parts twisted at odd angles.

They continued to take out robots as Stanley watched from the sidelines, holding his crisped shoulder.

Black liquid soaked the ground. As the robots dropped, the crowd booed. They were chanting something, but Stanley wasn't sure what.

When all the robots were destroyed, Stanley approached the remaining group of prisoners.

The announcer came on again and babbled something.

"Hey guys, what are they saying?" Stanley asked.

Gandhar, who was breathing hard, spoke up. "They're saying... it has been a long time since the outsiders have won the fight. This is a bad omen for war. Our enemies will win... unless we sacrifice the prisoners to the gods."

* * *

Vwdqohb'v vkrxoghu fdq'w fdwfk d euhdn.


	3. The World Was Gonna Role Me

"V.O. 938 now leaving the station," said the pilot over the intercom.

Ford gripped the edge of his seat and looked out the window as the ship entered pure space.

Vesta looked enormous, with only a portion of its brown and blue surface visible. He could make out city grids below, a few of them still glimmering on the dark side of the planet. It wasn't unlike Earth, with its gentle clouds and watery surface; it was just missing the green.

After a few minutes of flight, Ford relaxed into his seat. He was the only passenger among the rows of empty seats.

_All right. The only people aboard this ship are the pilot, the co-pilot, and myself. If I time things right, I can probably break away from them on Janus._

A siren started up, loud and insistent. Ford gripped his safety restraints and looked out the window for anything amiss. In the distance, he could see a gray object approaching them like a bullet from the direction of the planet.

The ship rolled out of the way to avoid the missile and it slipped from Ford's view.

A force slammed into them and sent them spinning. Vesta and the stars passed by Ford's window in a blur. Red lights flashed.

"Warning. Fatal damage," said a robotic female voice.

"Attention," the pilot said. His tone was urgent, but under control as it echoed through the intercom. "We've been hit by a projectile from Vesta. We're going to make an emergency landing.

"But the Shreep-" said a woman's voice. Ford could barely hear her over the siren.

"-Martha, trust me! This is our only option. That missile put us in critical condition. Our chance of survival up here is zero percent."

The ship stopped spinning, then faced toward the planet. Vesta grew larger, swallowing the sky.

The belly of the ship turned to face the ground as it entered the atmosphere. The expanse of ocean stretched out beneath them with the land far out of reach.

They jutted forward, and the ship shuddered as they flew over the briny whitecaps.

The belly of the ship touched the water, sending a jolt through it. Waves washed over the ship and dragged it below the surface. Bubbles and algae scurried out of the way of Ford's window, and he could see nothing but dark depths below.

Ford tugged at his straps, undoing what felt like a hundred different clips before breaking free, then glanced around for an exit.

The floor rattled and bucked under Ford's feet. He grabbed a chair and steadied himself until the ship stopped moving.

 _The ship must have hit the bottom_ , he thought.

The cockpit door slid aside, revealing the copilot supporting the pilot with her shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine. What about him?" Ford gestured to the pilot.

His gaze wandered, his eyes unfocused. Blood trickled from his scalp.

The copilot grimaced. "I'm not sure. Let's just focus on getting out of here."

The two pilots stumbled to the command interface. The woman, who Ford assumed was Martha, typed in a code, opening the door.

Cold water spewed inside, drenching them and quickly filling their tiny pocket of air. Ford gripped a nearby seat to keep himself from being swept away by the surge. He took a deep breath, then once the water had finished, he pushed forward, swimming through the door.

Ford swam beside Martha and the pilot, then grabbed the pilot's other arm to help him past the twisted metal of the cargo hold.

The intense pressure in Ford's ears eased when he came to the surface. He forced his head out of the water, taking in deep breaths.

As the three of them treaded water, Ford peered through droplet-covered glasses at the closest land mass. It was farther than he would've liked.

"Look!" Martha pointed to an approaching yellow boat. "They heard our distress signal. That's a relief. I thought the Shreep were going to find us first.

Before Ford could ask what she meant by that, the boat neared them and slowed.

"Someone, help them up!"

Hands grabbed Ford's arms and yanked him into the boat.

Ford got to his feet, water dripping from his hair and down the end of his nose. He wiped his glasses in vain, then scanned the group of a dozen or so people. Some of them removed their scarves and goggles, eyeing the three newcomers with curiosity. All of them were dressed for surviving the desert wilderness in some way or another. One of them wore a sombrero, while another had a cowboy hat perched on his head.

The refugees helped Martha sit the pilot in the corner. He squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned back against the side of the boat. Martha sat beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder.

The boat turned around and sped toward land. With the hot wind whipping past them, it only took the length of the drive to dry the three of them out.

When the group had docked the boat, the woman at the helm turned to them and folded her arms, looking them up and down. She removed her hood and pulled down her scarf. The woman had a head of dark hair in a braid and a large nose.

"Welcome to our little refugee camp," she said, gesturing to pillars of sandstone ahead. "What are your names?"

"Stanford Pines."

"I'm Martha," she said from the ground. "This is my husband, Howard."

The woman nodded. "I'm Debi Pizano Barientos, the leader of this refugee camp." Debi turned away put a hand on a blond girl's shoulder. "Hey Lily, this guy needs medical attention. Get him to Dr. Meyers."

The girl nodded and knelt beside Howard. With Martha's help, they supported him as they walked down a ramp to shore.

The rest of the group fanned out across the sand, their eyes scanning the area. Ford walked beside Debi and followed her through the sandstone maze.

A cluster of tents sat at the heart of the maze, only visible when they turned a corner--a secret desert village.

The people in the camp watched with interest as the group came in. The dirty faces congregated around the bonfire in the center of camp chatted with one another, sometimes pointing at Ford.

They passed a food station where an old woman and a boy were shaking dust off of what looked like onions, but with ropy tendrils hanging off them. The boy stared, neglecting his onion. This earned a chastisement from the old woman. The smell of soup wafted from their area.

"What's the reason for the secret camp?" Ford asked Debi. "What are you hiding from?"

Debi raised an eyebrow. "Were you a new recruit at the space station?"

"Not exactly. I was on my way to Janus. I'm... new to this conflict."

"The Shreep invaded this planet looking to use us for their hatcheries."

Ford's eyes widened. "Hatcheries? As in, aliens are using humans as hosts for their eggs?"

"That's right."

He shuddered inwardly. "Are the... Shreep... responsible for the attack on our ship?"

"Probably. Tensions have been high ever since the space station was moved to observe our situation. The U.I.R. sends us supplies from time to time while they wait for the right time to extract us. I'll bet the Shreep thought you were a supply ship."

"Why not just extract you now?"

Debi folded her arms. "The U.I.R. has been trying to negotiate with the Shreep for the planet, but the Shreep will never budge. They should just end it already and blast those roaches into the sky." She glared at the dirt.

"I'm sorry," Ford said. "How long have you been here?"

Debi put her hand to her chin, looking at the ground thoughtfully. "I'd say it's been six Sol months, give or take."

"Oh. That's..."

"Yeah..." Debi rubbed the back of her neck. "And now you're one of us. I wouldn't worry, though. We'll get out of this, one way or another." She stared off into the distance, quiet as the bonfire's light flickered across her eyes.

Debi sighed and pushed away some stray black hairs from her face. "We might have a spare cot in tent C." She pointed to a nearby tent with a domed roof. "You might as well make yourself at home."

"Thanks," Ford said, frowning.

"Don't mention it. By the way, dinner is at sundown."

Ford nodded and walked away. As he left, Debi was surrounded by several other refugees. They attacked her with questions.

"Who was that?"

"What happened?"

Ford didn't care to stay around and listen. He pulled back the flap entrance to tent C and was greeted by the stares of a few refugees. They were kneeling on the ground, paused in their sheet-folding.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, hi. Debi said I could find an empty cot in here."

"You must be one of the crash survivors," one of them said. She got to her feet and offered Ford an old, shaky hand. Ford took it, finding that her grip was stronger than he expected.

"I'm Ford."

"Cara. I'm the head of tent C." She smiled, exaggerating the lines around her mouth. "I'll show you to your cot."

Cara led the way to one of many curtains lining the side of the circular room. Ford felt the stares of the other refugees as he slipped behind the curtain.

On the other side of the curtain was another circular room with beds lining the outside edge. Cara stopped at a cot with a rusted trunk at the foot of the bed.

"This used to be Bundi's, until he got snatched by a couple of roaches." Cara stared at the bed, her wrinkled face scrunching up.

The silence stretched between them. Ford shuffled his feet, not knowing what to say.

Cara shook her head. "Oh, I'm sorry." She wiped her eye. "I just got caught up in some memories. The cot is all yours. I'll let you get settled. If you need anything, I'm usually nearby." She wiped her nose on her sleeve and bustled past Ford, slipping behind the curtain again.

Ford approached the cot. It was a simple square topped with a dirty quilt. He tested it with a hand and it creaked in response. It was as hard as he expected, but he figured he could get used to it.

The chest at the foot of the bed captured his interest. The lid resisted him as he forced it up. Random objects-glass bottles, crumpled papers, and a magnifying glass-sat at the top. Ford shifted the contents around, looking for anything useful. He found a stick with notches cut into it, a beat-up golden locket, and an odd pen. The locket had a picture of an older lady with smile lines and dark brown hair. She was holding a toddler in overalls that had the same hair and a similar nose.

He closed the locket and put it back, suddenly feeling self-conscious about poking through someone else's personal things.

Ford was about to close the chest when he spotted a splotchy, purple-black leather book tucked in the corner. It blended with the shadows of the box—so much so that he almost missed it.

He pulled the book out and inspected the soft leather binding that kept together a thick wad of rough paper. Flipping through the pages, he couldn't find a mark in the journal.

 _I suppose I could use a new journal. It's not like Bundi's going to be using it._ Still, Ford hesitated. The information in his past three journals could potentially destroy his home dimension. Maybe keeping another journal wasn't the best idea.

 _But it would be nice to collect my thoughts. Those are innocent enough._ He moved a thumb across the book's leather surface. _This time will be different._

Ford opened to the first page, then looked closely at the strange pen he found, looking for a clicker. He pressed a button on the top, but instead of a pen tip coming out, a red laser shot out, setting the first page on fire. Ford clicked the pen again, turning it off, and slammed the book shut, killing the fire.

He opened the book again and touched the burnt corner of the first page. _Oops._

Ford tried turning the wheel on the center of the pen, then clicked it again with apprehension. This time, a regular ball-point tip appeared. He tested it out with a scribble, then began to write.

_**I have my reservations about starting a fourth journal, but old habits die hard. I can't tell how long it's been since my accident with my interdimensional portal. After an encounter with an advanced human society called the United Interstellar Republic, or the U.I.R. for short, I've lost track of time. There's no telling how long they let me sleep aboard that space station, but I'm guessing it was a while. I was beyond sleep deprived.** _

_**I can only wonder where Stanley is. After pushing me into the portal, he followed me. We both ended up in the Nightmare Realm, but we were separated when Stanley fell into a rift.** _

_**I'm clinging to the small hope that he's alive. If he's not dead, he's out there by himself, probably struggling to survive. I'm worried about him.** _

Ford sighed. He crossed out the last sentence, then continued.

_**If he is alive, I can't do anything for him right now. Before I can even think about finding him, I need to defeat Bill Cipher. It's a monumental task, but I'll undertake it if it means I can stop him from destroying my dimension and others. I'll begin with finding a weakness. Surely someone in the multiverse knows of a way to beat him.** _

_**Currently, I'm on a planet called Vesta. An alien species called the Shreep has invaded, and they're terrorizing the human inhabitants here. I must be on my guard if I hope to get out of this situation in one piece.** _

Ford nodded to himself. He searched the contents of the chest again and found a small sheet of metal and a jar of tar-like substance that was labeled "glue."

The scrap of metal gleamed under the skylight of tent C. With his new pen, he traced his hand and cut out the shape, creating a silver six-fingered hand. He held the symbol up and smiled.

After pasting the symbol on the front of the journal, he used the laser pen to make a four.

The sound of someone banging two pots together and shouting just outside the tent startled Ford. He placed the journal in the roomy pocket of his trench coat and left the sleeping quarters, poking his head outside the tent.

"Dinner!" shouted a boy from outside. "Get it now, or not at all!"

The chilly twilight air washed over Ford as he left the tent. He rubbed his arms and stayed at the edge of the crowd that gathered around the bonfire. Some were holding bowls of steaming soup. The ones with food made their way to the sitting areas at the edge of the camp.

The girl with the blond hair that helped Howard-Lily-was talking to a young man with dreadlocks. She tossed a roll at him, laughing at something he said.

Debi clapped Ford on the shoulder. "You look like a fish out of water there, Stanford."

He jumped. "How long were you standing there?"

"Not long." Folded clothes hung from her arm. "These are for you. I don't know when we'll be rescued, so I figured you'd need an extra pair of clothes."

He took the clothes and tucked them under his arm. "Thanks."

"Anyway, you should probably get some soup before the kids snatch it all. I'll catch you later. I have an announcement to make." She touched two fingers to her forehead in a farewell salute and disappeared into the crowd.

Ford spotted a line forming in front of a stand. Behind the open counter, the woman who was handling the strange onions from before stirred a massive pot. Joining the line felt like the last thing Ford wanted to do.

He felt like an outsider with no way to pierce the bubble. It had been a while since he'd been surrounded by such a large group. Between the stares of the refugees and his lack of an appetite, what he wanted most was to be alone with his thoughts, but Debi's shouting stopped him before he could leave.

"Everyone, stop whatever you're doing and listen up!" Debi stood on a crate, her arms spread wide.

The crowd turned its attention to Debi and quieted.

Debi lowered her arms and looked out across the mass of people. "Today, a U.I.R. ship was shot down on its way to Janus."

The crowd booed.

"We can't tolerate the Shreep shooting down our supply ships," she continued, "and I think we're all sick of waiting for the U.I.R. to make a move. I propose that in three days, we force their hand. Recently, some of our members were captured and taken to the Shreep hatcheries. Let's strike the Shreep in New Eris and rescue them. We will end this stalemate once and for all!" Debi raised her fist to the air.

The crowd did likewise. Cheers rose up.

Ford broke away from the group and escaped to the lip of the camp. Up on a ridge, a group of teenage refugees was eating together. Ford sat down a few feet away from them. They stop talking and studied him for a moment, then resumed their conversation.

From the ridge, he could see most of the land beyond; the sun painted the far mountains in hues of purple and colored the sandstone columns that jutted into the sky orange. In the distance, a city glimmered. Tiny skyscrapers made of glass reflected the sun's light.

_That must be New Eris._

He couldn't see any signs of Shreep, but he had a feeling they were there, waiting. For a moment, Ford wondered if the refugees were really prepared for what they were going to do. With the excitement of the crash, it was easy to spur the refugees to action, but did they really know what they were up against? After all, they were hiding for a reason.

Someone sat down beside Ford, snapping him out of his thoughts. Martha nodded at Ford, wearing a thin smile. She held two steaming bowls of soup.

"I saw you leave and figured you'd want something." Martha handed him a bowl.

Ford stirred the contents, disrupting the watery yellow surface, his appetite unreachable. Instead, he poked at the purple broccoli things floating at the bottom.

"How's your husband?"

Martha stirred her soup. "He's felt better, but he's fine."

"Did you hear Debi's announcement?"

"I did. I'm not sure how I feel about it. The U.I.R. _has_ been dragging their feet, but..." Martha raised her spoon to her mouth and sipped. "Well, I hope Debi knows what she's doing."

The group of teenagers laughed. A boy with short black hair made a finger pistol and pretended to shoot one of the girls. The girl fainted with a melodramatic cry, falling into the arms of the friend sitting next to her.

"I hope she does too."

* * *

Wkh X.L.U. lv klglqj vrphwklqj.


	4. She Was Looking Kinda Dumb

Ford made quick, light marks with his pen, capturing the form of one of the refugees. The girl had her knees bent as she looked down the sights of her gun at a practice dummy. Someone had stabbed metal rods in the top of the lumpy potato sack to look like antennae, and it had a pincer and angry slanted eyebrows drawn in marker for a face.

The girl pulled the trigger, firing a discharge of blue plasma and hitting the dummy in the thorax. It shuddered on its wooden stake, leaving a smoking, black mark.

"All right!" The girl pumped her fist.

"Nice one," the trainer said. The girl handed him the gun and gave him a high-five. Her friends crowded around her, congratulating her success.

The others in the group shuffled their feet in nervous anticipation. The trainer's eyes roamed and found Ford, who was sitting nearby in the shade of a cliff.

Ford broke eye-contact and looked down at his drawings. Beside his newest scribble, he wrote _ **fires a blue blast**_ and drew an arrow.

"Hey Picasso," he called to Ford, "how about you try firing a gun? It wouldn't hurt to prepare, just in case."

The group stared at him, waiting for a response. Ford opened his mouth, ready to say that he didn't need any training with firearms; over the years, he'd made it a point to study a variety of weapons. He even had his own stash of weapons back in a bunker in Gravity Falls. However, Ford had never handled a plasma gun, and he supposed that it would be good to know, just in case.

With a frown, he put his journal in his trench coat pocket and joined the others.

"Aw, don't look so put out," the trainer said with a grin. "Maybe you'll enjoy yourself. I'm Typher, by the way."

The instructor had a lean build, and he wore a worn leather bomber jacket with a faux-fur collar. There was a patch on the right breast; it was the U.I.R. insignia with the letters R.A. across it. Ford wasn't sure what the R.A. meant, but he guessed it was the initials for an air-force. Perhaps a Republic air-force.

He held out a hand to shake. Ford hesitated, then shook his hand. Typher glanced down at Ford's six-fingered hand and raised an eyebrow. 

“Is there a problem?” Ford asked pointedly. 

“No, no, not at all,” Typher said, releasing the handshake.

"I'm Stanford Pines. I know how to shoot, but I've never used a plasma weapon. What's the difference between this and a regular gun?"

Typher scratched the patchy stubble on his neck. "You've never used a plasma weapon? Where are you from?"

"Dimension 47'\," he said. "It's a closed dimension."

"Hang on, you're from a closed dimension?" Typher smiled, excitement in his voice. "That's not something you hear every day. How did you get here?"

"It's a long story." Ford could feel the eyes of the group on him. He wasn't in the mood to spill his life to this group of strangers, so he summarized. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."

Typher nodded slowly and let the question go, but he had a disappointed frown. "Plasma weapons aren't too different from guns that use bullets. The real difference is starting them up. Most plasma weapons have an on-switch. Flip that, and the gun will warm up. There's also a safety you have to watch for. You'll find that beside the on-switch." Typher held up the gun and pointed to the two different switches. The safety was currently on.

Typher handed him the gun; it was heavier than it looked. Typher gave Ford a shrewd look, as though the way Ford held the gun could give him insight into the his character. Ford had a suspicion that being singled out was less about being taught how to shoot, and more of an excuse to investigate the stranger. _Maybe this is what those creatures back in Gravity Falls felt like when I studied them._

Ford searched the large gun and found the switch on the side. The gun hummed. He turned off the safety, then readjusted his grip on the warm handles, hoisting the barrel up. He adjusted his stance, pointing his shoulders and feet to the target. As a precaution, he put his weaker foot slightly behind his other. From what he'd seen, the gun had some recoil.

He lined the sights up with the dummy's misshapen head andput pressure on the trigger.

A blue burst of light rocketed from the gun's barrel with a high-pitched ripping sound and slammed into the dummy's head. The smell of burning cloth blew over them.

The corner of Ford's mouth turned up in a smile. He lowered the gun and turned to the others.

"Nice shot," Typher said, raising his eyebrows.

"Emergency meeting!" A boy ran out from the sheltered system of sandstone. He ran straight to Typher. "Everyone needs to get back to camp. Debi's orders."

Typher raised his eyebrows. "Will do, Rej. Everyone, you heard the kid. Back to camp!" He took the gun from Ford and walked in the direction of camp with it slung over his shoulder.

Ford fell in with everyone else as they followed Typher. As he walked with them, they didn't stare at him as much as they used to. In truth, there was little separating him from being an actual refugee, and he was becoming less of a novelty every day.

They entered the maze of rocks, then came to the center of camp, joining in with the others gathered there. Debi stood on top of a crate and looked out over the crowd.

"Everyone," Debi began in a booming voice, "a few hours ago we communicated with the Prometheus space station. After a negotiation, they agreed to end the stalemate!"

Cheers exploded from the crowd. A man with salt and pepper hair clapped Ford on the shoulder, laughing. Ford jumped at the touch and shrugged away.

When the celebration calmed down, Debi continued, "The Republic knows about the ship that the Shreep blasted, and they, like us, thought that it marked the end of the ceasefire. Tomorrow, they're going to send a ship out to the Yohaven wastes. Everyone will evacuate to that ship and join the other refugee camps to escape the planet."

There was more cheering.

"However," the refugees silenced as Debi held up her hands, "the Republic has refused to rescue the prisoners in the hatcheries."

"What?" came an outraged cry. "How could they do that?"

"We can't just abandon them! We don't know that they're dead!"

"I understand your concerns," Debi replied calmly. "I stand by the plan I established yesterday. I will go to New Eris with an elite group to rescue the prisoners. We will head out tonight and return tomorrow with the others or die trying."

People in the group clapped and whooped.

"And what if you don't come back?" Typher shouted from the crowd. The others quieted at this sobering idea.

"Then you'll leave us behind," she said, her eyes hard. "If we don't make it back, I want none of you to wait or come looking for us. It would be suicide."

Typher and Debi had a staring match. Typher broke away first and chewed the inside of his lip.

Debi put her hands on her hips and looked at the crowd with a placid face, but her foot bounced. She had dark circles under her eyes.

She got down from the box and exchanged a few words with the members of the crowd.

Typher shook his head and walked away from the group.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

 

The caravan jostled. The hairy mammoth of a man sitting next to Ford squished him into the window. He smelled like body-odor and smoke. Ford shoved the man away. The man was dozing off when he crushed Ford, but when Ford jabbed him, he shook his head and looked around, dazed. 

The caravan was packed, but only a few were chatting. Most of them stared at the desert landscape in silence as it flashed by. In the seat in front of Ford, a child sat with her mother. The six-year-old girl, her hair in pigtails, watched the desert with her doll propped up to watch. The doll was missing all its hair; apparently, an ambitious hairdresser had gotten carried away. 

"It's okay Lucy," she said to her doll, "I know you miss the city. Maybe we'll be back." Her mother looked at her and opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. 

Martha and Howard sat behind Ford. Howard was resting beside Martha, a bandage on his head. Martha looked as though she was drifting off as well. Her elbow was propped on the window, her head resting in her hand. Her eyelids drooped. 

After three hours of travel, everyone had relaxed from their morning panic. Getting belongings together to leave overnight hadn't been easy for them, but they had somehow managed to strap most of it to the top of the caravan. 

There was a silent tension in the vehicle. Debi and her small group hadn't returned; with every minute that passed, the chances that Debi and the others would escape the planet became slimmer. 

Ford fumbled for the pen in his pocket and pulled out his journal. His pen was unsteady as the caravan moved, and the resulting shaky cursive wasn't ideal, but it wouldn't stop him. 

 **_Currently, I am fleeing Vesta with the majority of the refugees. Debi, the camp leader, has gone to rescue refugee prisoners from the hatchery in New Eris. They haven't returned, and at this point, I'm not sure they'll ever catch up with us in time. Debi was confident when speaking to the refugees about the mission, but I'm beginning to think that it was a show to keep up morale._ **  

"Brace yourselves," Cara said from the driver's seat. "We're going into a sandstorm." 

Up ahead, an ominous orange cloud approached them, swallowing everything. What little conversation there was died. Sand hit the windows, and there was a shudder of wind as they passed into the haze. The inside of the caravan grew darker as they passed through. The caravan slowed, picking its way across the desert in silence. 

Two thuds on top of the caravan startled the refugees. They all looked up at the roof as the thumping continued, traveling to the sides of the caravan. Ford tensed as the noise came uncomfortably close to where he was sitting. He looked through his own window, coming close to the glass. 

The face of an insect dropped in front of his face. Ford recoiled and cried out. The giant insect was upside-down as it clacked its mandibles against the window, testing the integrity of the glass. Its head was glossy, and its black eyes wrapped around the back of its head. Its hairy feelers caressed the window. 

Shouts rose up from the other side of the caravan. Another Shreep dropped down and pressed a gun to the glass. The refugees shot first, melting a hole through the window, but the Shreep was gone. Sand billowed through the opening. 

There was a flash of light outside the windshield. The caravan jumped, then stopped in the middle of the sandstorm. Cara smacked the steering wheel and cursed. 

Typher approached Ford's window and fired at the Shreep. The Shreep screamed as it retreated. 

Typher clenched his jaw. "Everyone who has a gun needs to watch out for roaches." He glanced at Ford. "I remember you being a good shot. Here, take this." He pulled a gun from a holster and tossed it to Ford. He caught it, startled. "If you see anything, shoot." 

"I need five people to help me fix the caravan tires," Cara said. "I think they've been shot." 

"I'll help," Typher said. 

A few others volunteered, but there was a long pause as they all waited for another to join. 

Seeing the need, Ford spoke up. "I'll go as well." 

The volunteers followed Cara out the side door with Ford in the back. 

That morning, Ford had changed into clothes that were more fitting for the desert (with the addition of his trench coat). He was grateful for the new clothes as the sand beat against him. He pulled up a scarf to mask his face and held his gun high, squinting through the sand for any sign of the Shreep. There were scrapes on the side of the vehicle, but the source was nowhere to be found. 

Cara went to the back of the caravan and came back with a spare tire that was nearly as big as she was. Two of the volunteers helped her carry it. Ford, Typher, and another refugee made a semi-circle around the group, standing alert for trouble as the others replaced the tire. By the time they switched it, Ford's hands were stinging from the sand thwacking his exposed skin. 

"That should do it!" Cara shouted to be heard over the storm. She opened her mouth to say something else, but a burst of plasma flew from the dust and hit her in the stomach. She clutched her middle and crumpled to the dirt. 

Ford shot at a shadow in the billowing sand while Typher came close to Cara, checking her wound. He picked her up, his face grim. 

"Get back to the caravan!" he shouted. 

They retreated to the vehicle; the others on the caravan looked at them with wide, fearful eyes. Ford pulled down his scarf and breathed in the oasis of still air. 

Typher placed Cara on the floor at the front. One of the refugees offered his coat, which Typher took and used to cover Cara's body. 

Some of the refugees cried out, panic taking them at the sight of Cara. 

Typher stood and faced them, his face a hard mask. "Everyone, keep your heads! The Shreep are still out there. Keep on the lookout. We're getting out of here." He turned to Ford and the four other refugees with guns. "If you see anything, shoot. I want two of you to position yourselves at the back window." 

"What about you?" one of them asked. 

"I'm driving." 

"I'll take the back," Ford said. 

"Good," Typher said. "Jesse, you go with him." 

A woman with a long braid followed Ford to the back window. The knelt and aimed at the glass. 

Typher took the driver's seat and shifted the stick, moving the caravan forward. Unlike Cara, Typher drove the caravan at break-neck speed. The vehicle swerved left and right to avoid rocks that only appeared when they were dangerously close. Somehow, Typher managed to avoid most of them. His eyes were focused as he turned the wheel. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. 

Eventually, the sand thinned and the winds died down enough to see farther into the distance. 

"Up ahead! The rescue ship!" One of the refugees pointed out the windshield at a silver speck a ways off. Its painted silver and black surface glinted in the sunlight. 

There was a crash as something hit the caravan. The caravan tilted, then righted itself and swerved to get back on track. 

A second shot hit the back of the caravan, blowing through the window and pushing Ford backward. He sat up to view the damage and saw that two of the refugees were lying on the floor, their clothes smoking—Jesse and a man he didn't know. People were screaming and moving to the front. 

Avoiding the broken glass, Ford stumbled to where the caravan now opened up to pure desert through a giant hole in the back. 

 _Just don't fall out._  

The plasma pistol buzzed in his hands. The round shape of a human-sized, flying insect appeared in the sky above him. Ford lined his sights up with the Shreep and fired shots. His first six shots missed—his hands were shaking, and the jostling of the caravan didn't help. 

The Shreep raised its gun, ready to fire. 

He breathed in slowly, calming his adrenaline surge, and pulled the trigger once more. 

The blue plasma hit the Shreep in the thorax. It lowered from the sky and hovered along the ground before plopping into the dirt. 

 _It's... it's down. I think I_  killed _it._  

The caravan slowed, pulling up alongside the large, silver ship. The back of the ship was open, waiting for them with a walkway planted in the dirt. 

Ford stood up from his kneeling position and put away his gun, his head spinning. He gripped one of the seats. A couple of refugees picked up the motionless bodies beside him and dragged them to the front of the caravan. 

Footsteps crunched in the dirt. A man in a gray uniform poked his head into view of the hole in the caravan. 

"Is everyone all right?" he asked. "You people were the last group to arrive. We thought something happened. Your camp is close compared to some of the others." 

"We were waiting for our camp leader to return from New Eris," Ford said. 

"I'm sorry," the man said, his tone condescending, "what's your name?" 

"Stanford Pines." 

At this, his eyes widened. "Really? Director Gunther will be glad to hear that you're alive." He tapped his bracelet. "So, Ms. Barientos isn't here. We warned her not to enter New Eris--the people in the hatcheries are a lost cause. Well, we won't waste any time. Refugees secured," he said into his bracelet. 

Typher came to the back of the caravan, his arms folded. "Who are you?" 

"Captain Reeves" he said. "I need everyone to make their way to the ship as quickly as possible." 

"We've had some casualties. We'll need help with that." 

Reeves paused. "I understand. I'll get some people on that immediately." 

"Has there been any communication from Debi?" Ford asked Typher. 

Typher shook his head. 

"Maybe we should wait for them," Ford said. "Not for long—just for another hour or so." 

"We didn't agree to back Ms. Barientos on her mission," Reeves said. "I'm afraid that anyone who goes into New Eris is most likely dead. Your lives have been endangered enough as it is." 

"But—" 

"—I won't argue with you, Mr. Pines. She knew the risks--now let us do our job. I was instructed to have the refugees back within a time frame. I need everyone to follow me to the ship." 

"Wait," Ford said. "How do you _know_ they're a lost cause?" 

Reeves stiffened. 

Typher raised his eyebrows. 

Reeves turned around. "What?" 

"What you're doing... it doesn't make sense," Ford said. "How are you so certain that everyone in New Eris is dead? Do you have any evidence?" 

The quiet stretched between them until Reeves finally said something. "We're leaving now, but if you'd like to stay here and wait for them, be my guest." His voice was strained. He adjusted his captain's hat over his thinning hair and exhaled a sharp breath, recovering his composure, and walked toward the ship. 

The refugees trickled from the caravan and made their way to the ship without protest, but Ford stayed behind, watching them from the caravan. He exited the vehicle and stayed in its shadow, his arms folded. 

There was an icy pit of dread in his stomach. He hadn't expected that kind of a reaction from Reeves, and it only made him more worried. And there was more that didn't make sense: why was it so easy to escape? Only two Shreep came after them. Wouldn't they fight harder to keep their leverage?  _There's more at play here than Reeves is letting on_ , _but what can I do? It's not as though I can stay and figure it out. Every day I spend here is another day that Bill becomes stronger... and another day that Stanley is lost in the cosmos._  

Typher leaned against the caravan with Ford and drew out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He offered Ford a cigarette, but Ford shook his head. Typher shrugged and pulled out a lighter. 

"Don't you think it's odd that the U.I.R. won't send in a rescue team for the hatchery victims?" Ford asked. 

"Definitely," he said, putting the cigarette in his mouth. "Pines, I have a question for you." 

Ford turned his head. "What is it?" 

He paused to light the cigarette, took a breath, then exhaled, drawing it away from his lips. "The Republic has a history of alien mistreatment. I've seen it firsthand." His face hardened. "I have a feeling that what they're telling us isn't the full story. I think Debi and the others alive, but they're in serious trouble." 

"Okay... what does that have to do with me?" 

"Let's say that I had an idea for getting them off this planet alive. Would you be interested?" 

Ford narrowed his eyes. "What's your plan?" 

"I have a ship, but it's stuck in New Eris. A prison break would be simple if I had it, but I can't get to it alone. I need someone to watch my back, and after watching you for the past week, you seem like a capable guy." He shook his head and smiled. "Those improvements you made to the desalination tank were beyond clever. I mean, you made our filthy ocean water taste like a mountain spring after you tinkered with the machine." 

When Ford looked at the Republic ship, he felt a tug in his gut. These people, their issues... were they really his problem? Would it do them more harm than good if he stopped in his mission? And what about Stanley?  

But on the other hand, could he really leave Debi and many others to their dangerous situation? And what about the Shreep? Could he leave not knowing the full story? 

There was also the issue of Gunther. If he returned with the refugees, there was no doubt that Gunther would send him to Janus under escort. There would be no chance to find Bill's weakness unless he managed to slip away somehow. If Typher had a ship, there was a chance that Ford could hitch a ride, effectively escaping Gunther.  

"So, how hard would it be to get to your ship?" Ford asked. 

"I've been told that New Eris has Shreep everywhere, but with only two of us, I think it's  _possible_ sneak in undetected through the sewers." He took another drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "As for the rest of it... my ship can handle interstellar dogfights. I think it can handle a few bugs." 

Ford scratched his head as he thought. It was risky. The plan had a lot of variables. Ford had no idea what New Eris was like, and he would be trusting a man he barely knew to guide him through a den of hostile aliens. Threads of paranoia still clung to him from his days of isolation, and he couldn't help but feel jumpy when considering putting his trust in Typher. However, the idea of escaping Gunther was alluring. 

 _I'll make this detour as quick as I can._  

"Typher, I'll do it on one condition," Ford said. "If I do this, then I want transport to a destination of my choosing." 

Typher smiled with his cigarette between his teeth. His shoulders relaxed, and the lines around his eyes crinkled. "Pines, you've got yourself a deal."

* * *

Grq'w eh irrohg eb klv idfdgh. Wbskhu lv d qhug.


	5. An "L" On Her Forehead

The crowd continued to chant. It was only three words long, but the drone of the combined voices was overwhelming.

"TOR VOX HA! TOR VOX HA!"

The other prisoners banded together in a group, sticking close against a common enemy. Stanley stayed in the middle of the group; he didn't know what would happen next, but at least he would have a layer of protection against it.

A door opened up, revealing two furry aliens with electric tridents. They moved from the edge of the arena toward the prisoners.

Stanley backed away and hid behind the crowd. He knew he was just prolonging his inevitable death by doing so, but he couldn't help his natural response.

Gandhar ran forward and threw a round, black object. It rolled to the guards' feet and exploded in a cloud of fire.

The guards cried out as they flew apart from each other, their fur burning. Stanley raised a hand to block a wave of dust that washed over him.

Aliens in the crowd screamed, and the announcer cried out in alarm. The viewers on the lower tier jabbed their fingers at the prisoners and called out slurs.

"Yaka tu!" Gandhar pointed to the door.

"Freedom!" Paz shouted and raised his gun. The other prisoners hollered and raised their weapons.

The group fell in behind Gandhar as they ran for the opening. Stanley followed the crowd as it squeezed into the narrow hall, but his two burns throbbed, and he winced every time a prisoner would unintentionally bump his wounds. He fell to the back of the pack to save himself pain. Paz was in the back with him, too small to contend with the larger aliens for space.

"Are you all right?" Paz asked. "I saw one of those robots hit you with its sword."

Stanley gritted his teeth. His limbs ached with fatigue. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

Gandhar raised his gun just as new guards came to the opening. He mowed them down and leaped over their fallen forms, not missing a beat.

"Wow, who is this guy?" Stanley asked.

"I don't know," Paz said, "but he is an experienced fighter."

The group came to an intersection and stopped. Angry grunts echoed, but Stanley couldn't tell where they were coming from.

Gandhar twitched his large ears to the left, then picked the path on the right.

They went through double doors and entered a hangar. Spaceships were parked in neat rows along the sides of the cavernous room, all of them different sizes and colors. The prisoners branched off and climbed into whatever was closest. Some of them pushed and shouted to get the ship they were after. Near Stanley, a purple octopus wearing shorts argued with a rhino leprechaun. Ships took off through the hangar into the desert, making the collection smaller by the minute.

"Paz, where should we--" Stanley looked around, but Paz had disappeared from his side. He couldn't see him anywhere through the moving crowd. 

 

Stanley hesitated. He was out of his depth with flying a ship. Gandhar was about to run off to claim a ship, so Stanley grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

"Hey, I can't fly a ship," he said. "Can you? Because if you can, I'm coming with you."

Gandhar blinked. "Sure. Whatever. Just hurry."

Gandhar ran to the back of a white ship with a pointed nose and unlatched the door.

Stanley was about to follow when he heard a commotion on the other side of the room. Several guards ran into the hangar, this time carrying plasma guns. Paz, who was getting into an orange and white ship, was right in their line of fire. Green plasma tagged him in the arm; he collapsed with a wheezing cry.

"Paz!" Stanley grabbed Gandhar's arm. "We gotta do something!"

Gandhar pulled his arm free. "I'm leaving. Get in the ship or get left behind."

Stanley flared his nostrils. He ran in and pushed Gandhar aside. The alien cried out as he fell to the floor.

Finding the cockpit in the front, Stanley sat in the pilot's chair and surveyed the massive array of buttons. The overly complicated system was labeled in an alien language.

"Uh... Maybe this one will do something?" There was a row of red buttons that he went through one by one, but none of them were the plasma guns. He turned on a pair of headlights, cleaned off the windshield with a spray, made his seat recline, and somehow let out a bag of confetti that was stored in the ceiling.

Gandhar got up from the floor and flicked confetti from his ears. "What _are_ you doing?"

Getting desperate, Stanley slammed a yellow button. The landing gear retracted, making the ship fall down and tip over. Stanley held onto his armrests as the ship hit the floor with a loud crash, but he didn't let that stop him. He pressed a green button and the engines roared to life. After sliding up a dial, the ship jutted straight for the guards. Stanley and Gandhar screamed, the guards screamed, and if the ship had the ability to scream, it would have.

The ship hit the wall with a _crack_. Stanley fell across the dashboard and hit his head on the cockpit window. With a groan, he pulled away and rubbed his head, then turned off the engine. The ship was now on its side. Any guards Stanley could see were lying on the ground. Gandhar had been thrown forward as well; he moaned on the floor, clutching his leg.

Seeing the ship as a lost cause, Stanley grabbed Gandhar by the arm and pulled him out of the tilted ship.

"You idiot," Gandhar whispered. "You could've killed us."

"Yeah, but I didn't, so shut up."

Stanley scanned the area for Paz. He found him trembling on the ground next to the orange and white ship. There were scorch marks up and down Paz's arm, and blue blood seeped from his wounds.

Stanley walked Gandhar up a ramp and through the open door of the ship, then turned around and helped Paz aboard. Paz winced as Stanley picked him up.

"Stanley?" His eyes were unfocused.

"Yep, it's me. Damn, they got you pretty good. Don't move."

Paz was silent as Stanley transferred him to the floor.

Gandhar sat up and cradled his leg. "Ouch. It stings."

Stanley couldn't see anything wrong with Gandhar's leg. "Cry me a river. You see this guy over here?" Stanley pointed to Paz. "His arm is zap-fried. How about you get off your yellow butt and help him?"

Gandhar closed his mouth and glared at Stanley. He stood up and limped off, then came back with a case of medical supplies.

"I'll take those. Can you fly this thing?"

"Absolutely," Gandhar said. "I'll be piloting from now on. I've seen what _you_ can do."

Gandhar hobbled to the cockpit room, disappearing out of sight behind the door.

The airlock door closed automatically before a fresh wave of guards could reach them.

Stanley looked to the case of medical supplies. It looked less like a first-aid kit and more like a suitcase. On the inside were instruments Stanley had never seen before. He picked up something that looked like a strange kitchen brush; it had a handle shaped like a pink raspberry, while the other end was circular with pink bristles. It was flesh colored, and it had a floppy end piece attached to the circular head. 

"What is this? A space toothbrush?" Stanley put it back in the box. As he did so, his hand brushed a roll of white cloth. "Bandages. Now _these_ I recognize."

The ship lurched. The floor vibrated under Stanley's feet as the engine worked to get them off the ground. With a sudden acceleration, the ship took off. It felt like an airplane as it climbed in altitude and entered a state where it felt as though it wasn't moving.

"Greetings," said a pleasant female voice. "Welcome to the _Caduceus II._ I am Amy-1739. How may I be of assistance?"

"Who said that?" Stanley swiveled his head.

"I'm this ship's artificial intelligence. How may I help you?"

"So... you're a robot?"

"In a way, I suppose. But this isn't the time to argue semantics. My sensors tell me that one of the crew members is in critical condition. May I be of assistance?"

"I don't know how a robot without any arms could help, but sure, knock yourself out."

"I'm unsure of what you mean by 'knock myself out,' but I'll do my best to save his life."

A door opened, inviting Stanley to step out of the center room of the ship.

"Bring your friend to the healing bay. There, you can place him in a pod, where I can begin the healing process."

Stanley picked up Paz and brought him to the well-lit, white room. The room was immaculate, the walls and floors a stainless white. Lining the room were six pods. One of the pods close to Stanley opened with a hiss. Stanley gently laid Paz into the egg-shaped chamber. The glass closed over him.

"Check on him in twenty hours," Amy said. "By then, he should be mostly healed."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yes. This ship was once used for medical missions to soothe the wars in this dimension. Some do not seek war, but instead to help those affected by it. This is the second time it's been stolen, and I must say, I'm grateful. I didn't care for the previous owners."

"Happy to help," Stanley said.

"I sense that you also have two burns. They're minor in comparison, but I'm sure it's irritating. Would you like me to heal them?"

Stanley glanced at his nicked shoulder. The threads of his shirt were glued together where the sword sliced through them. "Yeah, sure." He removed his shirt.

A metal arm descended from the ceiling and sprayed Stanley's wounds. The stinging was soothed, like water over a fire, leaving only a prickle.

"Those burns should be healed within five hours."

"Thanks." _I guess this place has its perks._

"Since we will be traveling together for a while, could I know your name?" Amy asked.

"Oh, um, it's Stanley. Stanley Pines."

"Nice to meet you, Stanley. If you are tired, you can find a room full of cots through this hallway."

A door to his left opened up.

Stanley looked at Paz one last time before he left. Paz had relaxed; the feathers on top of his head were settled, and there was a hint of a smile at his beak. Confident that Paz was now taken care of, Stanley went to check out the new room.

He came to the end of the hallway and found the room he was looking for. It was large with bunks set into the wall, each one identical. Stanley picked one of the lower ones and pressed his palms into the mattress. It was more than Stanley had hoped for; it was clean, free of bugs, and he didn't have to pay for it.

_I could get used to this._

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

"Now entering the atmosphere of Valcu," Amy said in a calm voice.

The ship shuddered as they entered the densely packed clouds of the new planet. Gandhar seemed to know where he was going as he guided the ship closer to the ground.

"Hey Gandhar," Stanley said, "where are we going, exactly?"

"The Republic isn't too fond of me," Gandhar said. "They'll arrest me if I go through interdimensional customs, so we'll have to use a less legal option. The owner of this Gateway owes me a favor. I'm sure I can convince her to let you use the portals too, if you need to get somewhere."

"I'd appreciate that. Thanks." _Even if I'm not sure where I need to go._ "Why doesn't the Republic like you?"

"I'm a member of the Black Sun Resistance," Gandhar said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Oh... right." Stanley didn't completely understand what Gandhar was talking about. He'd never heard of a Black Sun Resistance. Whatever it was, Stanley wanted no part of it.

Gandhar pulled up on the control wheel, leveling out the ship. Stanley narrowed his eyes as the ground below raced past the cockpit window. Although he couldn't see much long-distance without glasses, he could make out a sallow landscape with patches of green. The sky was overcast, and there was a pitter patter on the outside of the ship that signaled it was raining.

"Warning," Amy said, "this is a toxic environment. Be prepared for acid rain."

"Thanks for the heads up, Ames," Stanley said.

Gandhar gave Stanley as strange look. "A nickname for the AI?"

Stanley shrugged. "Is there a rule against it or something?"

Gandhar shook his head. "No, no... It's just odd."

As the ship flew on, Stanley spotted a gray shape on the face of the yellow wastes. "Hey, what's that?" He pointed to the gray mass.

"That's the Gateway. Beings come here to travel between dimensions without the Republic's regulation. If the U.I.R. were to find out about this, they'd shut it down and arrest everyone inside."

The ship slowed as they neared the structure. Gandhar started the landing sequence by punching in buttons and moving a slider. The ship lowered to the ground. When the landing gear made contact, the ship rattled.

Gandhar rose from his seat. "Let me do the talking. If all goes well, we should be on our way in a couple of hours."

"Sounds good to me," Stanley said. "Hey Amy, how is Paz doing?"

"Paz's condition is improving, but he needs more time in the healing pod."

Gandhar had already left the cockpit. Stanley poked his head into the next room and saw Gandhar standing in the central area of the ship.

"Do we have any space suits?" Gandhar asked the ceiling.

"I have many suits that are capable of withstanding harsh environments."

Two slots opened up in the floor. Panels, each holding orange suits, popped out. Each had a bulbous helmet. To Stanley, they looked like the offspring of hazmat and space suits.

Stanley frowned at the bright orange, rubbery outfit. "You're sure I need this to survive out there?"

"Positive," Amy said.

"Unless acid burns and asphyxiation are your thing," Gandhar said, "then by all means."

Stanley sighed. "Fine." He pulled one of the suits from its panel.

Stanley watched Gandhar slide his striped body into his suit first, then copied what he did, first screwing off the helmet so that he could pull on the rest. Inside, the suit wasn't nearly as rubbery. There were a few extra layers of material that made the suit thicker than Stanley expected. When he put on his helmet, a yellow light in the corner of his vision flashed twice.

"Did your light flash twice?" Gandhar asked, his voice coming through a speaker next to Stanley's ear.

"Yeah. What does that mean?" Stanley took deep breaths as he wobbled in the suit.

"That means that you're ready to go outside. Amy, open the airlock."

There was a warning beep as the doors on the side of the ship opened. Gandhar walked into the space between the airlock and the final door. Stanley stumbled after him in the clunky outfit, then stood up straight as the airlock closed behind him. The final door opened, exposing them to the world outside.

Stanley's helmet was instantly speckled with rain. The ground squished beneath his feet like a sponge. The barren landscape mixed with the moody downpour made the planet seem like it was sick and depressed.

Gandhar made his way to the facility. A couple of figures dressed in similar suits came out of the main doors to meet them. Gandhar greeted them. With some reluctance, Stanley joined them.

"Teru! Yio te bada!" Gandhar said.

"Ah, Gandhar," said a cool, feminine voice. "Betu ya erah qwi."

They both continued to talk in an alien language. Stanley tuned out until all three turned to him, as though expecting an answer to something they said. 

"Uh, hi," he said. "I don't speak alien. Did you ask me something?"

The three looked at each other. 

"Do you have a translator?" the feminine one asked.

"Nope."

"My apologies," she said. "I'm Teru. Gandhar, Sendrum and I are all equipped with translators. Most beings have one. When we speak to you directly, our translators pick up on your... language, whatever it is. The words that come from our mouths are automatically changed. Also, we can understand you, but you're unlikely to understand anyone else. We can get you a translator once we're inside. What's your name?"

 

"Stanley Pines."

"Are you a part of the BSR as well?"

"No, I'm just here to find my brother and get home."

"I hope you find him," Teru said. "The multiverse is a hard place to find anything twice in."

Teru and her attendee led the way to the entrance. They twisted a valve on the front of the large, circular door. It hissed as it swung open. All four of them entered the airlock. The second door opened as soon as the first one closed, letting them pass into the facility.

The facility was dirty, with a herd of yellow footprints at the main entrance. Teru made new tracks as she walked deeper into the facility. She twisted her helmet off, and the other three did likewise. Stanley took in a fresh breath, tucking his helmet under his arm.

Gandhar continued to speak to Teru in a language that Stanley couldn't understand. Teru responded casually.

"Wait here," said the attendee beside him. Sendrum was a blue alien with vibrant green eyes and a collection of dark fur on top of its head. He had an underbite and fangs poking out of his mouth, and he had a round physique. "I have an extra translator." Sendrum waddled off into a different corridor.

Meanwhile, Stanley continued to follow behind Teru and Gandhar. They were busy chatting, so they didn't notice Stanley for the most part. Gandhar would motion with his arms a lot, sometimes getting excited about a piece of information. Teru nodded to everything Gandhar said, listening intently.

Stanley studied the back of Teru's head; Teru was a pink alien with tentacles running up her neck, and she had a snout like an aardvark. Stanley cringed a bit every time she turned her head to look at Gandhar. Her eyes were completely black, and they glittered under the artificial lights.

After a bit of walking, they came to an area with a window. Stanley put a hand on the glass and studied the operation below. He could make out most of it, despite not having glasses. Beyond the window was another section of the facility. It was large enough to fit an armada of space ships, as well as three big, upside down triangles at the end of the room. The triangles all had glowing white circles in the middle. Stanley recognized Ford's portal design. Tiny figures walked around below, all dressed in protective gear.

The conversation between the aliens beside him grew quieter. Stanley glanced beside him and was greeted with a disturbing scene; Teru was licking Gandhar's cheek with her aardvark tongue, probably with affection, but Stanley wasn't sure. Stanley curled his lip and recoiled.

"Oh, that's not right." He averted his gaze and put up a hand to block his peripheral vision. "Why-just, why? Please, no."

Sendrum reappeared, shuffling over to Stanley with a metal bracelet in his hands.

"Here, I help." Sendrum grabbed Stanley's arm. Sendrum detached the glove of Stanley's suit, then clamped the cold band on his wrist. Stanley squinted at the bracelet with distrust. The bracelet had a screen like a high-tech watch and a collection of buttons that he was afraid to touch. Now that he looked, he could see that Gandhar, Teru, and Sendrum all wore a similar bracelet. 

"And with this I can understand anyone?" Stanley asked.

"Just about, yes." Sendrum said. He pressed a button on his bracelet. "I'm speaking to you in a different language now. Can you tell?"

"Wow. I _can't_ tell." Stanley looked at his wrist with new appreciation. "Thanks."

"It's my pleasure," Sendrum said. Sendrum looked behind Stanley at the couple and widened his eyes.

"Will you two break it up?" Stanley said. "You're making the rest of us uncomfortable."

Teru pulled away. "Oh, um, my apologies." She sneezed-what Stanley guessed was an alien equivalent of an embarrassed cough. "Let's-"

Teru broke off and looked back at the window. Down below, workers were shouting and pointing at something outside, beyond Stanley's sight. A small object flew through the wide opening of the hangar, skidding across the floor. The object flashed. Everyone in the hangar either stopped in place or collapsed to the ground, frozen in their current position.

A garrison of troops ran into the hangar with guns raised. They rushed to the workers, restraining them with blue energy handcuffs.

"It's the Republic Enforcers!" Teru said. She put a hand to her head. "They've found us." She turned to Gandhar. "Were you followed?"

"No, I wasn't! I don't know how they found us!"

Teru gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry Gandhar, but we have to go. I have a private ship near here that we can get to. You and Stanley are welcome to join us."

"Thanks Teru," Gandhar said.

Stanley grabbed Gandhar's shoulder. "Wait, you're just gonna leave Paz and Amy?"

Gandhar grabbed Stanley's hand and lifted it off his shoulder. "Let me be frank, Stanley. Paz is weak and useless, and an AI is replaceable. I'm not. Plus, if the Republic gets a hold of me, I'll be going to prison for a life. I can't stick around for them."

He recoiled. Gandhar's words resonated with his memories. _He's weak. Useless. I just want to get rid of him._

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"We're leaving," Gandhar said. "Are you with us or not?"

Stanley's face tightened. "I'm not going anywhere with _you_."

Gandhar sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Fine, be that way. But take this with you." Gandhar grabbed the gun on Teru's belt and tossed it at Stanley. Stanley caught it and fumbled with it. "You'll need it."

After turning a few knobs that did nothing, Stanley flicked a couple of switches on the side. Green lights on the barrel lit up and the handle vibrated, signaling that it was powered on. About the size of of a pistol, the blaster felt comfortable in Stanley's hands.

Gandhar, Teru, and Sendrum were already running down the hall. They disappeared behind a door, leaving Stanley alone by the window.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this._ Stanley breathed in slowly and screwed on his helmet.

_I hope Republic prisons are better than the ones back home._

* * *

Jdqgkdu jhwv doo wkh vsdfh edehv.


	6. The Meteor Men Beg to Differ

The outlines of the sandstone cliffs were black silhouettes against a starry backdrop. The lights of the caravan illuminated the rocky terrain. Sandstone rocks whizzed past them, threatening to bash in the front of the caravan, but Typher dodged the largest rocks with no hesitation or fear. Ford sat in the seat behind him, his fingers clamped to the seat, and watched as the dark landscape passed them.

"Are we getting close?" Ford asked. "I can't see the city."

"The Shreep don't use lights. Only the automatic ones are on. You can see New Eris up ahead, if you look closely."

It was difficult to see, but when Ford inspected the upcoming cliff wall, he noticed dots of light scattered around the base. Street lights gave a faint glimmer to the glass towers of the city. A raised transportation system was lit up; it weaved through the skyscrapers with elegant twists and turns, like a string of stars.

"When we get to the city, just follow my lead," Typher said. "Debi's scouts said that they saw Shreep dragging people into the prison. That's probably where their main hatchery is. My ship happens to be next-door in a sectioned-off shipyard, so we'll have to be extra careful."

"How do you know they aren't watching the sewers?"

"I don't. But it's the best shot we have. If they're watching the sewers, then nowhere is safe." Typher's tone was relaxed, but his grip was tight on the steering wheel.

He turned the lights off and stopped the caravan behind a large cluster of rocks.

"Okay, let's go." Typher hopped up and opened the door.

"Typher, wait. Is there a plan if we get spotted?"

Typher stopped in the doorway and frowned. "No. Let's hope that doesn't happen."

With reluctance, Ford followed Typher into the desert, stepping lightly as he made his way down the hill. Typher scanned the edge of the city as they entered, turning his head back and forth.

The blue city streetlights gave the cold metal and glass structures an eerie glow. It was oddly quiet; there was no one on the streets, and none of the windows were lit. There was no sign of movement anywhere—the entire city slept.

There were only a few signs that anyone had lived there at all; abandoned trains sat on the transportation system, and cars were overturned in the streets. The broken windows and the black scorch marks on the buildings told the story of a hostile takeover.

_I thought this place was supposed to be infested. Where are all the Shreep?_

Both of them crouched low and ran from cover to cover silently. Typher stopped and pointed to a manhole at his feet. Ford nodded and helped Typher lift the manhole, revealing a rusty ladder and a dark tunnel. A bitter smell wafted up. Ford turned his head away and covered his nose with his sleeve.

Typher climbed down the ladder into the darkness. Ford descended after him, his foot slipping once on the slimy rungs. Ford made his breaths shallow to keep the rotten air out of his lungs.

His foot touched the ground unexpectedly. Ford turned around and walked behind Typher down a tunnel, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

Typher pulled out his gun and raised it, shining the attached flashlight ahead of them.

Ford could see enough of the ground to make out slow-moving, oily water on his right. A canal divided the floor in half. The tunnel kept going, branching off into different pathways. Typher kept to the main tunnel and peeked down every branch they passed, his shoulders rigid. Ford kept a careful watch, but just like the city above, there was nothing alive to meet them.

They passed through an archway, the water dripping from the ceiling the only sound between them. Typher never looked back at Ford to check if he was still following. Since they were in the sewer, Ford figured he could ask a whispered question.

"Typher, how do you know where you're going?"

"I've done this before. Except then, I was trying to get out."

"Get out?"

"Of prison. I only got out because of the Shreep invasion."

Ford stopped. "You're a criminal." He repeated the truth, letting it sink in; Typher didn't seem like an outlaw.

"Sort of."

Ford puckered his mouth and continued walking. "What were you arrested for?"

"I've been arrested for a lot of things. This time it was transport, specifically."

"How is transport illegal?"

"I was transporting aliens the Republic wanted dead." He shrugged. "Long story short, the Republic has a habit of taking over other planets for the sake of 'unity.' I'm not a fan. I try to get in their way whenever possible."

Ford wanted to ask more, but they reached the end of the tunnel. There was another slime-covered ladder leading to the surface.

"This is it, Pines. This should take us to the backside of the hatchery. After we get inside, we'll slip into the shipyard and get my ship."

"Wait, you never said anything about entering the hatchery. That sounds like suicide."

Typher sighed. "There's no other way to reach my ship. You can only get to the shipyard by going through the facility."

"I appreciate you leaving that out," Ford said with a glare.

"Yeah, well, I thought I implied this mission was dangerous." Typher folded his arms. "Look, it's dicey, but if we can pull this off, we can set everyone free. I think it's worth the risk."

With that, he started up the ladder. Ford watched as Typher pushed the manhole free and climbed onto the surface.

_This is where heroism gets me._

Ford grabbed the slippery ladder and went up, crawling out of the sewer after Typher.

Typher faced the boxy building in front of them, his back to Ford. Fences surrounded the perimeter. "That should be their facility," he whispered. He walked up to a door and tried the handle. "Locked. We'll have to break in."

"How?"

Without responding, Typher gave the glass an impressive kick. Despite the well-aimed kick, his foot bounced off with a _thud._

"Huh. That's funny." Typher rubbed his foot. With the limited light, Ford could see that his face was reddening. "The glass is stronger than I thought."

"You're idea was to smash the glass?" Ford said in a heated whisper. "I was under the impression that we were trying to be quiet."

"Okay, what do you wanna do?"

"Move. I'll handle this." Ford pulled his laser pen from his pocket. He held the point up to the glass, rotated the center, then clicked the end. The red laser hit the glass, the pinpoint pressure fracturing it more effectively than the blunt force. Ford turned the pen off and rapped his knuckles lightly on the splintering glass. It came apart almost without a sound, falling to the ground with gentle tinkling. Reaching inside, Ford grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Typher put a hand on his hip. "Nice pen."

Ford smirked.

They entered the hall, Typher in front. He seemed to know where he was headed, taking a left at a split instead of right. Ford peeked into the door windows as they walked, but he couldn't see anything more than dark shapes of tables and chairs.

Typher held out a hand to stop Ford. "Did you hear that?" They waited for a moment, listening.

Ford was about to reply that he couldn't hear anything when an inhuman shriek echoed off the walls.

A green blast lit up the hallway, missing Ford by inches; he felt the heat of the energy pulse as it flew past his shoulder. It hit the door at the other end of the hall with a resounding _boom_.

Ford's hand flew to the gun in his pocket. Typher was already crouched with his gun in his hands. Ford did the same, crouching on the other side of the hallway. He turned his gun on and waited.

Ford pointed his gun at the darkness, his hands shaking. Typher fired, but his shot only hit the picture frame at the end of the hall. It burst into flames on impact and crashed to the floor.

In the dim light cast by the fire, Ford could see the contour of a giant insect head peeking around the corner at the end of the hall. It pulled away when Typher fired again, the plasma clipping its antennae. It cried out.

"Damn it," Typher muttered.

Ford readjusted his sweaty grip and focused on his weapon sights. He aimed at the same area of space the head had been and waited.

When the Shreep reappeared, Ford squeezed the trigger. At the same time, the Shreep fired at Typher. This time, the plasma skimmed Typher's leg and hit the wall. He stumbled to the floor.

Ford's shot hit the Shreep directly in the head. The alien yelped and fell backwards, its head smoking.

Typher held his leg and groaned. Ford rushed to his side and used Typher's gun as a flashlight to look at the wound. His shin was red and blistered.

Typher breathed hard through his nose and pushed Ford away. "Get off me, I'm fine. Just a burn—nothing I can't walk away from." He stood and winced. "Where's the Shreep?"

Ford pulled away from Typher, surprised at his harsh tone. "It's dead."

"We don't have long now. We have to keep moving—that was a lot of noise. If there are any others in the building, they'll be here in a few minutes."

Ford felt a flutter of fear in his chest, but he forced himself to focus only on what he needed to do next-find the ship. He took the lead and glanced down both ways at the end of the T-shape.

"Right or left?" Ford asked.

"Left."

High-pitched shrieking echoed behind them.

Ford went into a jog and glanced behind at Typher. He managed to stay on Ford's heels despite the burn.

As they ran down the hall, a new chorus of screeching started up in front of them. Ford and Typher backpedaled, but the cries behind them were growing louder.

"They're trying to trap us," Ford said.

"I noticed," Typher said, his eyebrows furrowed. "The shipyard is down this hall. We can try to fight our way out, but I don't think we'll get far."

Ford glanced at one of the doors beside them. He opened the door and peeked inside. Blue light passed through the shades of the only window, making horizontal stripes across the tables and chairs. It looked like a cross between a break room and a doctor's office, with sterile white walls, gray carpets, and large cabinets to the side under a sink.

"In here," Ford said. "If we can't run, let's hide."

They went inside and Ford closed the door behind them. He went to the lower cabinets and opened them, finding little inside except for a few cardboard boxes. Typher found his own cabinet and climbed inside. Ford did the same, closing himself in. His head brushed against the top, and the edge of one of the boxes dug into his back. In the cramped space, he waited and listened.

From outside the room, the screeching grew louder, then stopped.

There was a creak as the door swung open.

Ford tensed and strained his ears to hear what the Shreep were doing. The hinges of the cabinet beside him squeaked as one of the Shreep opened it. The Shreep slammed it shut, then moved on. Ford flinched away from the sound.

 _I have two options here. I can either wait for them to open my cabinet, or I can burst out and go down fighting. Wow. I don't like my options._ Ford held his gun close and watched for the Shreep to open his cabinet.

Instead of his cabinet, the Shreep chose the one beside it—Typher's. There was a crash and the sound of plasma hitting a wall. He heard an "oof" and a heavy sound, as though someone had fallen.

Ford kicked the door open, bashing into the Shreep on the other side. The Shreep fell onto its rounded back; it was stuck, its many legs flailing.

Typher was lying on his stomach, his face pressed into the carpet. A Shreep held a gun to his head.

Another Shreep approached Ford. Without a second thought, he fired at the roach-like alien, hitting it square in the thorax. It fell forward and clutched its middle, screaming.

Before Ford could do anything more, a Shreep knocked him over, forcing the air out of his lungs as he hit the floor.

He turned his head away from the stale carpet and wheezed. The Shreep was surprisingly heavy; its weight pressed into his back, making pain flare up his spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the Shreep holding him down leaned forward and inspected him with its antennae, tickling the back of his neck.

"Humans," the Shreep said in a raspy voice, "do not fight. Come with us, or we kill you. Comprehend?"

Without waiting for an answer, the Shreep pulled Ford's arms behind him and clamped something tight around them. Ford and Typher were pulled up into a kneeling position.

"We take you to holding cells. There you wait, until we decide if kill you."

* * *

Wkh Vkuhhs Irug vkrw olyhg.


	7. I Need to Get Myself Away

I'd like to thank everyone who's made it this far! You guys are great, and I hope you like where this story is headed. Readers make everything twice as fun, and the feedback I've received means a lot.

* * *

 

The Shreep behind Ford pushed him along and made him stumble. He huffed and glared at the oversized cockroach.

Typher walked behind them with his own Shreep. His eyes scrutinized the hallway, as though he were looking for a way out.

The hallway was dark, but the Shreep seemed to know exactly where they were going. They pushed Ford on, prodding him in the back with a gun until he reached a metal door with a high-tech locking mechanism in the center. The Shreep guarding Ford punched a code into a keypad. The door beeped. Once the lock rotated and the door slid open, the Shreep pushed Ford into the drafty corridor.

This hallway didn't have the same office look as the others. Its walls were solid metal, with sickly yellow lights built into the ceiling and lining the path. Cells were on both sides of the hallway. Each one had bunk beds built into the walls and a toilet jutting from the floor.

They approached the end of the hallway. The cells ahead of them were occupied; blue energy screens acted as a barrier instead of prison bars. Ford peeked at the occupied cells and saw that there were two refugees per cell. Each pair was dejected and slumped over in their tiny living space.

"Home sweet home," Typher muttered under his breath.

The Shreep threw them into an unoccupied cell. As soon as the energy screen went up, the aliens left them without a word.

Ford came within inches of the humming wall of energy. He didn't dare touch it. Instead, he fed it the corner tip of his trench coat. He recoiled when the blue screen zapped the cloth, leaving trailing embers and an acrid smoke.

_That makes things difficult._

Ford sifted through different escape ideas. He didn't have his belongings-the Shreep had stripped him of his gun, his journal, and even his laser pen.

Typher sat on the bottom bunk and inspected his injured leg. "I guess all we can do now is wait for them to lay eggs in us."

Ford didn't respond.

A voice yelled at him from behind the screen. "Stanford? Is that you?"

He squinted at the cell across from his and saw Debi waving to get his attention.

He perked up. "Debi?"

"The one and only," she replied dryly. The lines underneath her eyes seemed especially deep. "How did you of all people get captured? I thought you were going to escape the planet with the others."

Ford glanced at Typher. "Typher persuaded me to try a rescue attempt before we left you for dead."

"You idiots." Debi shook her head. "We're all as good as dead."

"Are you all okay?" Ford asked.

"None of us are dead, so that's something."

"No one's been taken for egg-laying?"

"Well... no." Debi's eyes slid to the ground, her eyebrows pinching together. "Not yet, anyway. Everyone who's ever been captured from our camp is here."

Several of the Shreep returned, all of them holding more than one tray of food with their multiple arms. One of the Shreep stopped at Ford's cell and slid two trays of food into a slot beside the energy screen. The trays popped through a flap on the ground.

The trays were covered in twisted white things that looked like a mix between silly string and tree roots. Orange bulbs were interspersed with the white string. The only familiar item on the tray was a biscuit on the side. Ford grabbed one of the trays and handed it to Typher, who curled his lip at the offering.

"What the hell is _that_?" he asked.

"What? You don't know? I thought you said you were imprisoned here. Don't you know what kind of dishes they serve?"

Typher grabbed one of the tomato things and squeezed it. Liquid stretched its surface, but the skin of the elastic fruit didn't break. "I _think_ these are ollarenes." He took the tray and looked away, becoming interested in tearing apart his biscuit. "I didn't spend a lot of time here. The Shreep attacked the city right after I was arrested. When they hit the prison, we... well, most of us escaped."

"Oh."

Typher tore away his pant leg to keep it from chafing. His wound glistened.

"How's your leg?"

"It stings, but I'm all right."

Ford dragged his tray to the corner of the room and poked the white roots. He picked them up and nibbled them. A bitter taste leaked into his mouth. Ford gagged and dropped the roots, scrunching his face. The taste faded into something sweet, but he wasn't hungry enough to try again. Instead, he settled with the biscuit, which was what it appeared to be. He tried some of the ollarenes, which turned out to be packets of water more than anything; they were tasteless, chewy, and the water left a citrus aftertaste in his mouth.

The Shreep were starting to file out of the hallway when Ford stood up and came as close to the energy screen as he dared. He didn't know when he'd see them next, and he had questions that needed answering.

"Excuse me, Shreep? Can I ask you a question?"

One of the Shreep turned its head, its antennae stretched toward him with curiosity.

Ford swallowed. "I just want to know what you plan on doing with us. Why haven't you laid eggs in us yet?"

"Yeah," Typher said, his mouth full of biscuit, "the suspense is killing us."

Debi slowly shook her head, her eyes wide and anxious. "Ford, what are you doing?"

The Shreep said nothing for a minute or two and twitched its antennae. "Your speech confuses me. What use have we for humans in hatchery?"

"You don't use human hosts for your eggs?" Ford looked back at Typher, who was staring at the Shreep as though it just said it likes to write sentimental poetry about humans in its spare time. Debi was frozen, watching the exchange with a stiff expression.

"No. We keep eggs in dark. We have no need for humans. Humans take our planet. We take back."

Ford's mouth popped open with surprise.

Typher stood and approached the energy barrier. "You mean... Vesta used to belong to the Shreep?"

The Shreep wiggled its antennae as it regarded Typher. "True. We suffer on other planet. We come back and take what is ours. We destroy Republic."

"Debi, did you know about this?" Typher asked.

Debi rubbed her arm and looked at the ground. "No, I didn't. The people on Prometheus told us about the hatcheries. I guess we were lied to."

"But why?" Typher asked.

"The U.I.R. lied to cover up their brutal occupation of an alien-owned planet," Ford deduced. "To make the Shreep look like monsters."

They were silent as they contemplated this.

Typher was the first one to speak up. "I guess that explains why the Republic won't rescue us. They don't want the truth to get out."

Debi kicked a wall. "Ugh, of course! Bad press about this could seriously hurt Gunther's position as a member of Parliament." Her voice turned dark and bitter. "He's just tying up loose ends."

"So what happens to us?" Typher asked. When no one answered, he ran his hands through his hair and walked away from the energy screen. "The Republic just can't screw with me enough, can they?"

"We have weapon," the Shreep said. "We will conquer. After that, you will die." The alien's cold, black eyes betrayed no emotion. It flexed its antennae, then left.

"Debi, do you know what they're talking about?" Ford asked. "What weapon do the Shreep have?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, I think it's the least of our worries."

Ford stepped away from the energy screen and rubbed his forehead. _We need to get out of here, but how?_

Typher was slumped against the wall with tired, half-lidded eyes. He resembled all of the other refugees in the prison-broken, defeated, and waiting for the inevitable.

Ford paced back and forth in the small space, his arms behind his back. Typher watched his pacing and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

"Be quiet for a moment," Ford said. "I'm trying to think of a way out of here."

"Uh-huh. Right. Well, you tell me if you get any breakthroughs." Typher leaned his head back and rested it against the wall, shutting his eyes.

_We could make a bomb... What do I need for a bomb...? Iron oxide... powdered aluminum... dang. We have a serious lack of supplies here. If only I still had my laser pen. With it, I could easily break through that vent on the wall and climb into the adjacent inactive cell. What do I have to work with? Bed sheets that probably have smallpox, cardboard painted to look like pillows..._

"At least those roaches didn't take my cigarette pack," Typher said, pulling out the beaten-up pack from his pocket. He drew out a cigarette. "They might have some kindness in them after all."

Ford raised an eyebrow as Typher stuck the end of the cigarette to the energy screen. He brought the lit cigarette to his mouth, breathing in smoke and letting it out through his nose. Ford watched as the smoke floated to the ceiling.

"Typher, your lack of concern for other people's breathing space gave me an idea."

"Really? Glad to be of service." He mocked bowed and took another breath.

"Help me get these blankets off the bed. We're going to roll them up and set them on fire."

Typher fixed him with a stare. "What?"

Ford had already gotten the blankets off of the lower bunk and was rolling them into a ball when Typher came up beside him. He watched the process with folded arms. Ford wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoke.

"So... why are we setting the blankets on fire?" Typher asked.

"I'm going to set off the fire alarm."

Typher's eyes widened. "Okay... Are you sure that's going to work?"

"I have no idea. But it's the best plan I have right now." Ford handed him the bundle and went for the top bunk. "We need something that the Shreep can't ignore."

"What if we just roast alive in here?"

"Then at least we died trying."

After both blankets were rolled up, Ford went over to the humming energy screen and gently touched the bundle to it. Smoke curled from the blanket. When he pulled the blanket away, the area that had touched the screen was charred and glowing with embers. Ford blew on the burnt fibers, coaxing a flame to life. The embers grew brighter until flames reached up, burning away the blanket. Typher did the same and held his blanket at arms-length.

"Now what?" he asked.

Ford pointed to the vent, which was right next to the foot of the top bunk. "Put the blankets on the top bunk. As they burn, hopefully smoke will filter through the vent and trigger the alarm."

"Yeah, hopefully," Typher said through the cigarette in his teeth.

Ford placed the flaming blanket on the top bunk with Typher's, then hopped down from the ladder and waited. Smoke made a cloudy haze at the ceiling. To keep from breathing it in, Ford crouched to get beneath the layer of smoke and pulled up his scarf. Even still, he inhaled some and coughed, his eyes watering. Typher crouched beside him and grimaced.

A siren started up and echoed off the walls, rising and falling in pitch. Lights flashed in the hallway, bathing everything in red. Debi looked over at them. Seeing the raging fire, her jaw dropped.

Through the siren, Ford thought he heard the hissing of the hall door opening.

"What now, genius?" Typher asked.

"Grab your tray!"

Typher paused at the odd request, then did as he was told. Ford grabbed his own fallen tray and held it up like a shield.

"We're so dead," Typher said.

The Shreep came into view; this time there were only two of them. When they saw the fire, one of the Shreep input the keypad code to lower the screen. The other Shreep had a gun pointed at them.

When the energy barrier went down, Ford threw his tray, hitting the Shreep with the rasied gun in the head. The Shreep recoiled and fired a reactionary shot, hitting Typher's raised tray rather than him.

Typher dropped his tray and rushed the Shreep by the keypad, tackling it to the floor.

The other Shreep recovered from the attack and pointed its gun at Typher. Ford ran forward and rammed into the Shreep, tipping it over. He tried to snatch the gun away, but the Shreep was stronger than he anticipated. It pulled back and hissed.

Their heads were inches away from Debi's buzzing energy screen—so close that Ford could feel the heat pulsing from it. The Shreep's rounded back made a shifting surface, and every time the Shreep moved, Ford's face came within inches of the screen.

Ford grabbed the Shreep's anntenae and forced them into the energy screen, searing the tips. A smell like bile hit Ford's nose. He bared his teeth and yanked the gun away, smacking the Shreep across the mandibles. He got up and pointed the weapon.

"Surrender!"

The Shreep crawled across the floor, whining softly.

Typher had somehow knocked the other Shreep out; it was sitting motionless on the floor.

"We're leaving," Ford said to the Shreep. It didn't respond. He kept his gun pointed at it. The red light flickering across the Shreep's insect face turned it into a hellish monster. Meanwhile, the unrelenting siren still demanded their attention.

Typher went to the end of the hallway where a monitor and a glowing interface sat. He touched the screen and searched through different collections of files until the words _fire evacuation procedure_ sat at the top of the screen.

"I can open everyone's doors from here, but I don't know the code," Typher said, his voice strained.

Ford turned to the Shreep curled up beside him. "You! Tell me the code, or else!"

The Shreep's antennae trembled. "Seven, six, nine, nine, eight."

Ford lowered his gun a tad, suddenly regretting the harsh tone he used. This creature wouldn't fight him. All of the aggression was gone from the Shreep now that it had a small wound.

_I'm surprised they've lasted this long. They're not nearly as dangerous as I thought._

Typher typed the code into his screen. Two pings signaled that the code was correct and the energy screens powered down. The siren and lights, however, refused to stop panicking.

Debi and all of the other prisoners stepped into the hall, their eyes wide. Some of them smiled and hugged, while others clapped each other on the back.

"We're free. I can't believe it." Debi shook her head and grinned. "Well, we don't have long before the other Shreep come around, but I know a way out."

"I have a ship we can take," Typher said. "It's docked in the prison shipyard."

Debi raised her dark eyebrows and clapped Typher on the shoulder. "Are you serious? I can't believe our luck." She turned to the refugees. "Everyone, to the shipyard! We're getting off this planet!"

They cheered, raising their fists. Typher opened a door, allowing Debi to lead the way down the hall. Once everyone was out of the prison block, Ford backed away from the Shreep and shut the door on them.

He followed the refugees through the labyrinth of hallways. They passed rooms that he was unfamiliar with, including one that had a dumpster filled with clothes. He slowed a bit and noticed a silver hand glinting at him from the top of the dumpster pile. Ford ducked into the room and grabbed his journal and the laser pen underneath it. Stuffing the items in his pocket, he left the room and came back into the hallway, catching up with the refugees.

They took a turn and found an exit. Typher shoved the door aside and led the way across the shipyard, which looked like a parking lot, but instead of cars, several spaceships of varying designs were parked in neat rows.

Rosy light was peaking over the top of the cliff that New Eris was nestled into. The air was still cool, but sweat gleamed on Debi's forehead and marked the chest of her blue tank top. Her shoulders were rigid as she swiveled, watching for any sign of danger as though she were a mother goose with a group of fledglings.

"There she is—the _Maverick_." Typher gestured to a gray ship that looked battered and old compared to the ships around it.

Debi puckered her mouth. "It's small. Are you sure a fighter ship can carry all of us?"

"You could fit a phalazypterix in there if you were ambitious enough," Typher said.

A resounding boom echoed across the canyon. Everyone stopped and looked to the city, but none of them could see the source of the noise. Lizard creatures with wings took flight.

"What was that?" Ford asked. No one had an answer.

A shrill cry from something large bounced off the empty buildings. After the shriek, there was dead silence.

Debi's face was grim. "Right. Well, everyone get on board. We don't have time to waste."

* * *

Wkh Pdyhulfn xvhg wr ehorqj wr Wbskhu'v idwkhu.


	8. Spare Some Change for Gas

With trembling hands, Stanley kept his weapon up for any surprises.

As he tried to navigate his way back to the entrance, he turned a corner and found two Enforcers speaking to each other, stalled in the hallway.

Stanley reversed and pressed his back against the wall. He looked at the gun in his hands.

 _Am I really gonna shoot them?_ He knew he couldn't back down. Paz and Amy were still out there, probably needing help.

With a deep breath, Stanley gripped the gun tightly and turned the corner. He screamed as he shot at the Enforcers.

All of his shots missed, making black marks on the wall around them. The Enforcers cried out in alarm. One of them activated an energy shield on his wrist, blocking any future attacks.

Stanley lowered his gun. They stared at each other.

"Uh... this is awkward," Stanley said. "Hey, would you two be pals and forget this happened? Maybe even give me a do-over? I think I had my eyes closed."

One of the Enforcers raised his wrist and spoke into his metal bracelet. "We have another one in hallway B. Requesting backup."

Stanley turned and ran. He pumped his arms as he sprinted and looked for a door he could disappear into. It was difficult to move in the bulky outfit, and his helmet quickly became stuffy.

"Hey, you! Come back here!" The Enforcer's footsteps were close behind.

A door on Stanley's left caught his eye. He lunged for it, closing it behind him. Muffled voices spoke to each other on the other side of the door.

"Did you see where he disappeared to? He couldn't have gone far."

"It doesn't matter. The entrance is locked; no one can escape. He'll have to come out sooner or later."

The footsteps kept walking. Stanley breathed out. _That could've gone better. How am I going to get out now?_

The room was dark. He could barely see anything with the dim red lights that made horizontal bars on the floor.

Stanley spotted a knob on the wall and twisted it compulsively. Lights turned on above him. The room was bigger than he'd anticipated. Machinery lined the walls, and it beeped as Stanley searched for anything useful.

On the floor was a grate. He lifted up the cover. It was large enough for him to fit inside.

"I wonder where this goes?" he said to himself. "Maybe I can find a way out."

He dropped down the metal shaft and landed with a heavy thud. Stanley winced. _I really hope no one heard that._

With some difficulty, he got down on all fours and did a sneaking crawl through the vent. Stanley kept going until he reached a branching path. _Left or right? I'm feeling... right's the way._

Stanley continued on his path. It was difficult to see in the vents, but every once in a while there was a panel with slats that let light in. Stanley peeked at one of these panels to gauge where he was going. He could see people kneeling on the floor in a large room below.

As Stanley moved over one of the slatted panels, it broke free. He dropped from the ceiling and landed on the floor, shocking his body with the sudden impact. He rolled over and groaned; his forearms and knees ached.

Captured aliens stared at him with wide eyes. All of them were bound with energy handcuffs. The entrance to the facility was just ahead of them. The Enforcers recovered from their shock and aimed their guns at Stanley.

"Hey, sorry to drop in," he said. "Y'see, I was actually on my way to the _Republic_ portals, but my pilot got confused and took me here instead. Now if you could just let me get back to my ship..." One of the Enforcers came from behind and pushed Stanley over. With a knee pressing into Stanley's back, the Enforcer snatched his gun away and clamped his hands into energy handcuffs. They felt like a slap bracelet he couldn't get out of.

"Dammit," he muttered.

"Stop talking," the Enforcer said.

"Right, I can do that. No problemo--"

"Kneel. Face the door."

Stanley sighed. "You guys are no fun." He did what he was told and glared at the Enforcer.

_Great. Now what? Maybe I should've gone with Gandhar while I had the chance._

The Enforcers paced the room. Stanley watched them and tried to gather escape ideas. He strained against his handcuffs. There was no way he'd be able to slip out of them. _Maybe if I fake sick..._

A loud explosion rattled the door from outside. Stanley perked his head up. The Enforcers in the room seemed just as confused; they watched the door, their guns drawn.

There was another explosion. The door shook again. Alarms went off inside.

"Attention," said a female automated voice. "Airlock has been compromised. All personnel, please locate the nearest explorer suit."

The Enforcers looked at each other with apprehension. The captured aliens fidgeted. They were all wearing the required suits since all of them were captured outside, but there was still a restlessness to the group. Whatever was making that noise, no one in the room wanted to confront it.

The next explosion attacked the airlock. The door broke free, falling to the ground and letting in poisonous air from the gaping hole.

The female voice droned on as the alarm blared. "Warning. Breach in airlock integrity. Locate the nearest explorer suit."

The aliens closest to the door stood up and ran. The Enforcers didn't stop them. Many of them were stunned, their guns raised at a threat they couldn't see as smoke filled the opening.

From the outside, plasma shots flew into the building, striking random people in the room. One of the shots hit an Enforcer and he fell to the floor. An alien prisoner was hit as well, nicking them in one of their many legs. Stanley got low to the ground and crawled to avoid the gunfire.

The smoke cleared enough from the entrance for Stanley to see what was causing the destruction. An orange and white ship loomed into view, hovering around just outside the entrance.

Stanley inched his way to the ship. The Enforcers were too busy firing at the ship to notice Stanley. When he was close enough, he ran from the building, passing underneath the ship.

The ship backed up and landed on the ground next to Stanley. The side doors flew open. He hopped aboard just as a few Enforcers noticed what he was doing and fired at him. All of their shots charred places on the ship and the ground around him. The airlock door closed behind him, and there was a sudden lurch as Amy brought the ship off the ground.

Stanley stumbled into the main body of the ship and made his way to the cockpit. "Thanks for the rescue, Amy. I was in a pinch."

"You're welcome," Amy said, her voice seeming to come from everywhere. "But I wasn't the only one helping you."

The door to the cockpit opened, revealing Paz sitting in the pilot chair. He swiveled to face Stanley and smiled.

"Paz! You're okay."

"Kind of." Paz coughed. He had bandages wrapped around his arm, but it otherwise seemed to be intact. "That plasma did a number on me. It's a good thing we found a medical ship--I owe you and this ship my life."

"Eh, don't mention it." Stanley took the copilot's chair and removed his helmet. He breathed in the cool air with relief.

The control wheel moved on its own as Amy took the ship farther away from the facility. The ship passed through a thick layer of clouds, picking up speed as they ascended. All other noises faded away as they broke away from the toxic atmosphere.

"The AI already informed me of what happened when I was out," Paz said. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to return to my own ship. I left it on a planet in this dimension. I was recruiting when I was abducted. I'm religious, you see--one of the Callers of Joox. I was looking to bolster the ranks for the upcoming holy war."

"Yeah, we can do that. Where is it?"

"Revlok. Hopefully it hasn't been stolen."

"Um, okay. Where is that?"

On the cockpit window, a digital image of a sphere appeared. Cities covered the surface of the planet. "This is Revlok. It is located 78 light years from our current location."

"Is that a lot?" Stanley asked. "It sounds like a lot."

"With faster-than-light travel, we can make the journey within two weeks."

"Two weeks, huh? I guess that's all right," Stanley said, although he wasn't too sure.

The ship paused in its flight, rotating to face a different direction. There was a symbol in the corner of the windshield that was changing rapidly. Stanley guessed that it was an alien countdown, but the fact that he wasn't sure terrified him.

"Preparing for FTL travel," Amy said. "Launch will begin in three, two, one."

Stanley gripped his seat as the instruments on the dashboard went haywire, blinking and calculating. The ship shuddered and whirred. The stars in the distance grew larger and bluer. Stanley clenched his teeth as the universe outside distorted and the stars squished together. Paz sat back in his seat and picked his toes, disinterested as reality liquefied just outside. Stanley looked away when he felt the contents of his stomach rise to his throat.

"Well, it's going to be a long flight," Paz said. "I think the AI can manage on its own. Why don't you go take a lunch break? There's food in the kitchen."

"Y-yeah. Sure." Food was the last thing on Stanley's mind, but he managed to pry his hands from his seat and get up.

With a hand on his head, he exited the cockpit. Once the bending stars were out of view, he felt less queasy. He took off his protective rubber suit and left it discarded on the floor.

"Stanley?" Amy said.

He stopped walking. "What can I do for you, Amy?"

"I don't want to alarm you, but fuel is running low. After this hop, we won't be able to fly to another planet. Acquiring the funds for refueling might be difficult."

Stanley frowned. _Money's always an issue. Why did I think it would be any different here?_

"Uh... don't worry about it Ames," he said. "We'll figure something out." Although Stanley's tone was nonchalant, he felt a knot of anxiety twist in his gut. Lying and stealing were two things he excelled at, but he had no idea how those skills would translate to this strange new setting.

"Also," Amy said, "in the future, I would prefer if you picked up your own space suit." A mechanical hand extended from the ceiling and grabbed the orange suit. A chute opened up from the wall. Amy tossed in the suit and the hatch slammed closed.

Stanley rolled his eyes.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

"We will arrive on Revlok in a matter of minutes," Amy said.

Stanley plopped his spoon back into his "yogurt." He frowned at the black sparkly goop. _Eh. It's not like I was enjoying it anyway._

When Stanley found the plastic container, Amy said that the space goo was a flavor of yogurt called _zaptoid_ , and that it was popular on Kiplon _._ To Stanley, it tasted like zesty, banana-flavored silly putty; Amy said this was because Stanley's taste buds didn't have the capability to taste the cocktail of flavors, but he wasn't so sure. Even though it wasn't the best thing ever, it was the most edible dish in the ship's refrigerator. He wasn't keen to try the moving tentacles in the see-through container marked _Gob's Elarkamesh._

The knot of tension in Stanley's gut tightened. Their arrival meant that he now had to worry about his problems; he couldn't just put off thinking about them anymore. _Well, I might as well look around the planet and see what it's like. Maybe there's a sucker somewhere with some loose cash._

Stanley got up from his seat and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. The hoodie was cleaner now that Amy had washed it, and with the hole in the back repaired, it fit like it used to. When Stanley felt around in his pockets, he pulled out a peso, a paperclip, and some pocket lint. The sight of the peso made the knot in Stanley's gut ease up slightly; it reminded him that his dimension still existed out there, somewhere, if only he could find a way back to it.

The ship shook as it entered the atmosphere of Revlok.

Stanley entered the cockpit and took the pilot's chair. Paz was in the copilot chair, doing nothing except watching as the ship became level with the ground below.

There were two moons; the one sitting on the horizon was oddly misshapen and brown, while the other floating above it was stark white.

Stanley squinted at the lights that dotted the otherwise dark landscape. He could make out glowing, tall buildings with jagged peaks.

They came into a valley, revealing that the city was larger than any Stanley had seen. It covered a huge portion of the land, stretching on in every direction. Amy sped to a central part of the city, right next to where several of the tallest buildings collected.

The ship lowered until it was weaving in-between the skyscrapers. Other ships flew alongside them. One of the ships honked at them as it zoomed past.

"Hey Amy, are you by chance a grandma AI?" Stanley asked.

"Artificial intelligences do not age in the same way as humans," Amy said.

"I mean, can you speed up? We're the slowest ones here."

"The other pilots are going above the legal speed limit. Revlok law states that--"

"Yeah yeah, laws and regulations, whatever," Stanley interrupted, waving a hand. "Who's gonna know? Just pick up the pace a little, would ya?"

The ship sped up marginally. They were still the slowest ship in the city, but it was an improvement.

Every inch of the city was covered in artificial light; it wore color and light like extravagant clothes, contrasting against the night sky. Even the windows on the buildings seemed to give off their own pink, blue, and yellow light. Advertisement screens covered most of the available space. With constant motion and bright lights, the city was overwhelming to look at.

"That's it!" Paz pointed to something on the ground. It was a wonder he could see anything through all the movement. "That's my ship. I can't believe it's still there."

Amy pulled over, lowering to the ground. Paz's ship was small and round, and it was sunk into the filth of the ditch. Several bright orange stickers were stuck to the cockpit windshield.

Paz widened his eyes, his feathers rising. "Great Axolotl! How many fines did they give me?"

Stanley perked up. "Do you have any cash with you?"

"Not really. I'll have to ask the Order of Joox for the funds to pay this off. They are not going to like this."

Stanley deflated again and outstretched his hand. "Well, good luck Paz. It was nice surviving a near-death experience with you."

Paz shook Stanley's hand. "It wasn't a pleasure. The near-death part, I mean."

Paz exited the cockpit. Within a few moments, he was inside his beach ball of a ship and waving goodbye. Stanley gave a weak wave back.

The ship extended several blades from around its center and rotated them like a helicopter's blade. Paz's ship lifted from the ground. The wind from the blades kicked up the trash and dirt that caked the street. The ship hovered, then took off, heading deeper into the city. Stanley watched the ball recede until it was out of sight.

"The ship's antimatter levels are low," Amy said. "We can take off again, but we will have to remain on this planet. We don't have the power for another jump. What do you want to do?"

Stanley leaned back in his chair and stared outside as he thought. The _Caduceus II_ rested in the gunk in the trench, slowly sinking. The buildings towered so high that Stanley couldn't see the tops. He somehow felt smaller here than he had in the depths of space. It was as though Stanley was now a discarded thing, forgotten, unwanted. Trash.

He breathed out sharply through his nose. "Let's get out of this dump, Amy. We're not gonna find anything by sitting here."

Amy complied. The ship came back to life, humming and lifting itself out of the mud. The ship moved forward, once again weaving through the city. This part of the city wasn't as shiny and new as the other parts they'd seen. Some of the buildings had broken windows and their walls were pasted with graffiti in alien languages.

"How much do we need for antimatter, anyway?" Stanley asked.

"One-thousand credits."

"Is that a lot?"

"It would take a while to obtain such an amount, yes."

Stanley rubbed his chin. "I _could_ try to con someone. But..."

"I'm sorry, I don't have a good definition of the word _con._ What does it mean in your dialect?"

"Oh, um, well... you lie to get money. It's a risky business. Back home, no one really appreciated my, uh, skills. Here though... that's unfamiliar territory. I'm not sure how to appeal to these guys, is what I'm saying." Stanley gestured to the city. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"I have a suggestion," Amy said. "I spotted an opportunity as we were passing through the city. There was an ad for an interdimensional race--the Interdimensional Revlok Grand Prix. In my databases, I saw that these races happen often. There are few survivors, but the prize for winning could more than satisfy our financial needs."

"Okay... a race. I'm not too bad at driving."

"I was planning to drive. I'm an excellent pilot. I also have faster reflexes and better strategy protocol than many organic beings. Having an AI driver is illegal, but as you said, we're looking to con them."

" _You_ wanna drive? You don't even have feet for pedals."

"I could at least help. If I were to transfer my software and consciousness to a car, it would be simple to control. Having me aboard would increase your chance of survival to eighty-six percent."

"Okay, _fine_. I guess it wouldn't hurt if you helped."

"One problem remains. How can we obtain a suitable racing vehicle?"

"Oh, that's easy." Stanley put his feet up on the dash. "We'll steal one."

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

Stanley slammed the gas pedal as hard as he could. He wasn't expecting the car to respond so quickly. His car back home--a red 1965 _El Diablo_ convertible--wasn't too shabby, but its acceleration was nothing compared to the response of this high-tech car.

The car ripped out of the parking lot, earning several honks and shouts. Behind him, a fat alien in a stretched t-shirt chased after him. Stanley could see the alien in his rear view mirror get farther and farther away as he snaked through the streets of the crowded downtown area.

Pedestrians on a crosswalk dodged out of the way as Stanley ran a red light. He changed lanes frequently, sliding in between cars as he fled the scene of the crime.

"Nice choice, Ames," Stanley said.

"Thank you," Amy replied, her voice coming from the car radio. "I have some concerns about your driving."

"Hey, if you don't wanna get caught, we're gonna have to break a few rules. Stealing is what I do best. Don't tell me how to do my job."

Stanley turned a corner and found an abandoned alleyway. A couple of cars with flashing lights on top whizzed by, blaring their sirens. Stanley sat in the darkness for a while, saying nothing and waiting as the engine rumbled.

Despite the car's capabilities, the way it looked and drove bothered him. There were too many lights and buttons. All of the labels were in an alien language. It was too foreign. Stanley found himself missing his old car, which was probably still parked in Gravity Falls, disappearing under a layer of snow. He felt a pang of sadness; for a while, he called that car home.

When he could no longer hear the sirens, Stanley spoke up. "Okay, where can we find this race?"

A screen lit up beneath the car radio. A map appeared, routing a destination. On the windshield, a virtual green pathway appeared, showing Stanley the correct road to take. Floating in the distance was a blue arrow, signaling where his destination was.

Stanley put the car into drive--or, at least what he thought was drive. The gear shift had a lot more options than he was used to; not only could it go up and down, but also left and right. If not for Amy, Stanley would've been arrested before he could leave the parking lot.

"In one point four miles, take a left," Amy said. "In two miles, the destination is on your right."

Stanley followed Amy's directions. This time, Stanley took extra care to follow the traffic laws to avoid suspicion. He glanced from side to side; the neon strip of road was brighter than Vegas, and colder somehow. Figures walked up and down the street, all of them various shapes and sizes, their silhouettes odd and misshapen.

Up ahead, he could see a grand archway. A crowd of cars was gathered in front of it. Stanley found an empty spot within the mass of cars and parked.

The cars around him were similar to his, but many of them seemed larger and had more bells and whistles. Stanley noticed that a few of them had guns mounted on their doors, and others had armor.

"Hey Amy, does this car have any weapons?" Stanley asked.

"None that I can find. There are a few defensive items here, but nothing in the way of offense."

"What's the defense?"

A force field bubble flickered around the car for a moment, then gave out.

"There... seems to be a malfunction," Amy said.

"Great." Stanley deflated in his seat.

An alien rolled down his window, looked their car up and down, then gave a low laugh. His pig nose glistened, and his green, bumpy skin wrinkled as he grinned at them. Stanley gave him a sour face.

A new voice echoed to them. "Racers! Are you _ready_?"

Engines revved in response. The pig alien uttered a guttural cry.

"All right! The portal will appear in thirty seconds. And remember--no AI helpers or you'll be _disqualified_!"

Stanley heard a few laughs in the crowd of racers, as though the voice had told a great joke. He swallowed.

Stanley tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the voice counted down from thirty. Cars were all over the place, shifting to get a closer spot to a circular structure--a portal. Stanley was in the back of the crowd.

"Three, two, one!"

A white portal appeared within the structure, promising to take whoever passed into it to another dimension. As soon as the portal appeared, the wheels of every car squealed as they raced through the portal. Some of the bigger cars smashed their way to the front, rolling over others with their gigantic wheels.

"It's not too late to turn back," Amy said.

"We need money, Ames. What do you want me to do? Sell bath soaps?"

"Just... be careful."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Stanley hit the gas and accelerated forward, zipping in and out of the other cars. Just before one of the larger cars could smash him, he turned the wheel sharply and veered into the portal.

* * *

Dv orqj dv Vwdqohb kdv Dpb, hyhubwklqj zloo eh ilqh.


	9. We Could All Use a Little Change

Typher typed a code into the keypad on the back of the _Maverick_. It lowered with a hiss.

Despite what Debi said, the ship seemed capacious to Ford--with its arrowhead shape, it was large enough to fit the refugees and then some. The refugees piled into the ship and filled the storage room. Ford came in behind them, filing in like another cow in the herd. He kept to the side of the ship to keep what was left of his personal bubble.

Typher stepped in and closed the walkway. Red lights came on, illuminating the wary faces of the refugees.

"All right, move aside. Captain coming through." Typher cut his way through the crowd and walked through a door at the end of the room. Moments later, he spoke to them over a crackling intercom. "This is your captain speaking. We're expecting sunny skies with a slight chance of Shreep. I'll try and make our escape from the planet as smooth as possible."

The refugees exchanged concerned looks.

The ship came to life with a sound halfway between an electric toothbrush and an old pickup truck.

The floor shuddered. Even with no windows, Ford could tell they were rising. When the ship took off, Ford could feel an acceleration, but the g-forces didn't feel as extreme as they should've been; he knew it would take a speed much faster than the speed of sound to escape the gravity of Earth, and this planet was incredibly similar in size. It was like physics had been muted within the ship.

_Interesting. I wonder if this ship also has artificial gravity._

For two minutes, everything was perfectly peaceful and silent. Ford was right in the middle of drawing a Shreep in his journal when the ship veered left.

Ford made a black scratch across the page as his hand slipped. The refugees cried out, jostling each other, and the ship righted itself.

There was a _thump_ outside the ship, followed by silence. With a start, Ford realized that he couldn't hear the obnoxious engines anymore. Ford's stomach dropped with the ship. He grabbed a handrail and closed his eyes tight, bracing for solid ground. The refugees screamed as the ship fell.

Something underneath the ship rumbled and slowed their descent. Ford opened his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, his skin prickling. Even though they were no longer weightless, when they hit the ground, all of the refugees sprawled on the floor with the sudden collision. Ford was flattened against the floor, the impact sending a shock through his shoulders.

"Ouch," he muttered. The refugees slowly got to their feet as well, some holding their arms while others sported bloody noses.

The back of the ship opened, letting in the harsh sunlight. Ford raised a hand to block out the bright light.

Shreep appeared at the bottom of the walkway, their guns trained on the refugees. Everyone froze.

"Humans, come with us," one of the Shreep said.

The refugees didn't move. Worry was reflected on each face.

One of the other Shreep aimed at the sky and fired. "Go! Now!"

In complete silence, Ford followed the other refugees in a line down the walkway. The Shreep's compound eyes were trained on them as they passed.

They were in a flat stretch of desert with the gleaming spires of New Eris in view. Ford gave a small gasp when he saw the crowd of Shreep surrounding the _Maverick_ \--all of the Shreep he expected to be in the city were here, in the middle of the desert. More poured from a cavernous hole carved out of the ground, constantly increasing the group's impressive size. They surrounded the refugees, leaving no way out.

There was only one place free of Shreep-the aliens avoided going near a large, black lump in the middle of the crowd. Ford couldn't tell exactly what it was; it was darker than any sort of rock on the planet and... fuzzy?

Only now did Ford notice the blue goo dripping from the _Maverick's_ hull. It covered the cockpit and gummed up the engines. Ford's eyebrows drew together as he tried to place what it could be, but he'd seen nothing like it.

Typher came down the walkway and sent a venomous look at the Shreep behind him. He joined the rest of the refugees, coming to stand beside Ford.

"Damn bugs," he muttered. "I'll never get that blue stain off of Rick. They'll pay for that."

A Shreep that was larger than the others parted through the crowd and stood before them. It had a ragged clothe draped around its bug shoulders, and a crown with a glass visor perched on its head. Ancient runes were carved into the stone base.

 _This must be their leader,_ Ford thought, noticing the respectful distance the others kept from it.

The king Shreep's antennae twitched. "We received message that prisoners escaped. You are strong, but together, we are stronger. Tushuuk, come."

The black mound moved. Three black appendages slid through the sand and lifted the monstrosity up. Ford's jaw dropped as it towered over them at approximately the size of a house. It was spiderish, with fangs and multiple eyes, but it had ears as well that rotated to pick up every little noise.

The refugees shuffled backward. Ford held his breath as it came closer, its black eyes glittering in the harsh light. Blue goo dripped from the monster's fangs. There was a crown perched on its head, much like the king's, except it was five times larger and clamped down with clips.

Despite the obvious danger, Ford couldn't help but analyze the creature, his curiosity louder than his fear. _Two large eyes in front with smaller eyes below. Interesting. That would give it great depth perception. And that mouth..._ The creature's sideways jaw clacked. Ford's hand itched for his pen, but he held himself back. For now, he still had his priorities in order.

Most of the refugees had backed away as far as they were able, leaving Ford as the closest one to the creature. The beast stared at Ford, eyeing him like he was something to eat. Ford's palms broke out into a sweat, and he took a step back.

The king wiggled his antennae. An attendant beside him raised a camera the size of a bar of soap. The lens focused on the refugees.

"Message from Ura Maktuu of Shreep," the king said. "We take what is ours, like you. We crush. We destroy."

Ford felt cold despite the glaring sun. _They're going to kill us. Not just kill us--they're going to let that creature eat us, on camera._ He glanced around, looking for anything that could help him, but the Shreep were on every side. While he could take them on individually, he guessed that they were stronger in larger numbers. _I do not like my odds._

Sweat rolled down Debi's temple. Typher's face was pale.

Apart from the crowd, several Shreep unloaded a heavy, metal box from the back of a caravan, each of them struggling to orient it. When they landed it in the sand, one of the Shreep pressed a series of buttons on an interface. The box hissed, releasing steam as it expanded and formed a giant gun barrel. It aimed itself at the space station. A red missile head came to the top of the barrel and locked into place.

"We will kill these prisoners, and then kill you," the king said. "Let destruction of your station be a lesson to Republic. No one treads on Shreep."

Debi came forward. "Stop! This won't fix anything. You're making a mistake!"

The king Shreep ignored her and raised a thin arm. Tushuuk parted his fangs, preparing for the order to feed.

One of the smaller Shreep moved through the crowd and ran to the king. The king stopped and turned to the attendant. The antennae of the two Shreep moved in unison as they had a silent conversation. Ford waited and watched, his breathing shallow.

The king turned to the crowd of Shreep and screamed at them. At once, they all lowered to the ground, walking on all of their feet like real roaches, and scattered. Only a few remained to guard the humans, but even they were shifting around, preparing to flee.

Two aerodynamic ships appeared on the horizon from the direction of the hazy, blueish space station hanging in the sky above the city. Their silver bodies winked in the light of the sun.

The Shreep still at the missile prepared to launch it, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the two ships. A stream of blue plasma hit the dirt around them, sending up clouds of sand. The aliens jumped away, abandoning the gun. The ships turned in the sky and came back, shooting at the mass of insects. The Shreep poured down into the cavern, but there were many still on the surface. Plasma torched clumps of the absconding aliens; they screamed as they burst into flames.

"Tushuuk, attack!" The king Shreep jabbed his arm at the sky.

Tushuuk let out a roar that vibrated in Ford's chest. It spat something at the ships--a gob of blue goo that missed its target.

With the Shreep distracted, Ford ran for cover, finding shelter in the shadow of the Maverick. The other refugees followed and hid with him. Debi was breathing hard, her forehead reflective with sweat.

"Look, over there!" She pointed. "One of them is still trying to fire the missile."

Sure enough, a guard Shreep had dropped his gun and was punching buttons with four appendages. There was a beep, and the missile oriented itself to more accurately hit its target.

"Someone has to stop it!" one of the refugees said.

"Who here knows how to disable a missile?" another asked.

No one responded.

Ford swallowed, then gritted his teeth. With a deep breath, he shifted the dirt underneath him as he sprinted to the missile launcher.

Typher's voice rang out behind him. "Pines! Watch out!"

Ford skidded to a stop just as plasma hit the ground in front of him, throwing sand in his face. He coughed and waved a hand. The Shreep was just beyond the mist of dirt, still recoiling from the close attack.

Ford dove forward and tackled the Shreep. It squeaked with surprise as it fell over. Now on top of the Shreep, Ford ripped its gun away and smacked it across the face, making it go limp. Standing, he wiped a mix of dust and sweat from his forehead.

The missile beeped again.

Ford jumped and turned his attention to the interface. There was a keyboard along with a few colored buttons. It looked a bit like the keypads in the prison, except he couldn't recognize any of the characters. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere by pressing random buttons, so he looked around the machine for a hatch.

When he found a rectangular panel on the side, he pulled out his laser pen and cut into the metal. Ford removed the panel and peeked around the complicated mess of wires and lights.

Ford raised his gun and aimed it at the wires. _Okay, from what I can see, this shouldn't blow up._ He pulled the trigger, shooting plasma into the wires. The lights inside died and the moving parts stopped. The missile pointed at the ground, deactivated.

A ball of tension in Ford's chest released. _That could've been messy._

Just as Ford let his guard down, the missile straightened, then aimed wildly at the sky.

_What?! How?_

He only had time to take cover as the missile lowered and fired, racing across the desert in the direction of New Eris.

An explosion rattled the ground and a plume of fire ruptured the base of the city. The tallest buildings toppled, glass bursting apart. Dust rose into the sky.

The refugees stared at the destruction, open-mouthed.

One of them broke into sobs. "There goes my timeshare!"

Ford replayed the scene in his head. _No... how did..._

He ducked down and examined the melted wires. He touched a place where a green wire and a yellow wire were glued together by the heat, linking together the power source and the missile commands.

 _But it was such a good idea..._ he sighed internally. _In another universe, I'm sure that worked._

"At least there was no one home," he said under his breath.

Tushuuk's goo tagged one of the Republic ships, hitting its engines. The ship spiraled out of control and lowered from the sky. When it was within range, Tushuuk crunched the ship between its jaws like a dog with a frisbee.

The king Shreep was one of the last left on the surface. With one ship out of commission, he made a break for the cavern. Just as he did so, the other ship fired and hit him dead on. Bits of rock and sand flew up in a spray. The king screeched. When the the smoke and sand cleared, the king was lying in the dirt, his legs curled into his blackened body.

Tushuuk stood in place, suddenly inactive. With the crown gone and no command from the king, Tushuuk was rudderless. The creature shook out its fur, coming to its senses, then ran away with surprising agility, climbing up a cluster of sandstone spires and disappearing out of sight.

The remaining Shreep tried to run into the hole or fly away, but the ship fired at them with ruthless accuracy. Ford flinched and looked away. When he looked back, there wasn't a single alien left standing.

The ship hovered in the air just above the cavern entrance. From a bottom compartment of the ship, a flashing pill-shaped device tumbled into the hole.

The ground trembled, and a mushroom of fire surged from the cavern. Edges of the hole broke off; the lip crumbled with much of the surrounding desert. Ford shielded himself from the heat of the fire with one arm. He could only imagine what kind of destruction the bomb had created down below. If the Shreep weren't burned in the explosion, they would be buried in the rubble.

Ford's hands dropped to his sides, his mind still trying to reason with what happened.

_I can't believe it... they killed them all... just like that._

The ship lowered until its landing gear touched the sand. A walkway descended and the pilot stepped out.

The refugees stayed by the _Maverick_ , wary.

The pilot approached the refugees and removed her helmet. A blond ponytail tumbled free. "Hello, I'm Gertrude Sinclair. I've been given orders to rescue any remaining refugees and take them to the station."

"Oh, now you care," Debi said. "The Republic was willing to leave us before. What changed?"

"Director Gunther sends his apologies," she said. "The missile compromised the safety of hundreds of lives, so we intervened. I must admit, I'm surprised to find you all here alive and well."

Legitimate surprise colored Gertrude's tone, but Debi narrowed her eyes.

"Since the threat has been neutralized," the pilot continued, "it would be my pleasure to transport you all. After we arrive on the station, Director Gunther will speak to you. The events that transpired need to be discussed. You can all follow me." She nodded toward the ship.

Debi looked as though she wanted to say something else, but she folded her arms and looked away, fuming.

With some reluctance, the refugees followed the pilot into the ship without her. With her mouth twisted, Debi watched as they marched up the walkway. Typher was the only one left standing beside her. Ford approached them both, still reeling over everything he just witnessed. He was having a hard time getting his limbs to stop shaking.

Typher by comparison seemed less rattled. He had his hands shoved in his pockets, a tired frown at his lips. "You don't have to go with them, Debi," he said. "I'm taking off with Ford. You can come with us."

"No." Debi shook her head. "I need to find my sister. She was in a different camp. I need to meet up with her and tell her I got out okay." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Thanks, though. It'll be fine, I'm sure. Gunther will probably just buy our silence, and after that, maybe I can forget this whole thing ever happened."

"Then... I guess this is good-bye," Typher said. Something passed between them--there was a camaraderie there, like two soldiers parting after war.

"Well, take care of yourselves," Debi said. She nodded at Ford.

Debi followed the other refugees into the ship. The walkway closed and the ship's landing gear retracted. The ship hovered in the air for a moment, then revved its engines and sped away, gaining altitude as it became a shining speck in the sky.

"Well, a deal's a deal," Typher said. "Have you decided where you want to go?"

Ford slowly turned his head to give Typher a disbelieving stare. "How are you not fazed by what just happened? We just witnessed a massacre, and you're going to walk away like nothing happened?"

Ford's raised voice bounced off of Typher, seeming to have no effect on his cool demeanor. Typher sighed and rubbed his neck. 

"You're new here, so I guess you're not numb to it like I am. I've seen so much of it... at this point, it's just how the multiverse is." He shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. You have to, if you wanna survive here.”

Ford looked across the open sand. Shreep bodies were scattered across the dirt, unmoving and silent. He shook his head and flattened his mouth.

 _There's nothing that can be done now._ His muscles still quivered, but the angry heat seeped out of him. He sighed.

Typher stepped around the _Maverick_ , inspecting the engines that were clogged with drying goo. "I should be able to clear this with enough heat from the engine," Typher said. "Do you have a destination in mind? I'm ready to get out of here."

Ford turned away from the carnage. "I do. I was opposed to it at first, but Janus seems like my best bet if they have a variety of interdimensional portals."

"That's convenient--I was already on my way over there. If you don't mind me asking, what dimension are you headed to?"

"Well, I... I don't know. I'm looking for anyone or anything that can give me a clue about Bill Cipher's weaknesses."

At the mention of Bill, Typher's attention snapped to Ford. "Bill Cipher's weaknesses? You... Why would you need to know that?"

"Bill is a threat to my dimension. I need to destroy him before he does something catastrophic."

"Pines, he's trapped in the Nightmare Realm. How much of a threat could he be?"

Ford grimaced. "He's not as trapped as you think. I'm from a closed dimension, Typher. My dimension didn't have interdimensional travel until Bill tricked me into building a portal that fed directly into the Nightmare Realm."

Typher went rigid. "Did... did he...?"

"No, it closed before he could cross over. It was activated too soon in an accident... hence why I'm here."

Typher ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair. "I never would've guessed." He laughed quietly. "Well, I think you're nuts, but if you're serious about stopping Bill, then I guess Janus is our next stop. Any belongings you wanna take?"

Ford thought of the journal in his pocket. "Just what I have on me."

Just before Ford entered the _Maverick_ , something in the sand caught his eye. He picked it up, turning over the camera that the Shreep had used. To his surprise, it was still recording.

He stopped the video, then rewound it until he came to the beginning. Ford watched the first bit, reliving their capture through the eyes of the Shreep. The camera was dropped when the Shreep holding it was shot down by one of the U.I.R. ships. Even though the camera lens faced the sky for the rest of the video, every so often it would catch a glimpse of a ship, or a Shreep getting gunned down. The video ended with Ford's approach and his curious expression.

Ford gripped the camera tightly.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

"I can't believe this." Typher grinned. "Gunther is not gonna be pleased when he finds out what we uploaded to the MWC."

Ford handed Typher the camera. He stood next to Typher in the heart of the ship between the cockpit and the storage space. There was a monitor on the wall and a keyboard, as well as some other devices that were propped on a desk.

Typher's fingers moved across the keyboard, bringing the blue screen to life. White statistics and bar graphs were projected from the surface of the monitor. He swatted the holographic information away, then picked an option that said _MWC_. Pulling a chip from the camera, he put it in a slit next to the monitor. A progress bar appeared as the video loaded onto the computer.

"All right, I've just gotta go here aaaaaand... send." Typher pressed _enter_ on his keyboard. The monitor made a cheerful _ding_. "There it goes, off to ruin Gunther's career. Man, that feels good." He grin split wider as he leaned back in his chair. "Take that, you lying bastards. You messed up this time. When the other intergalactic empires learn about this, they're gonna be pissed."

"How many alien species has the U.I.R. done this to?"

Typher's smile disappeared. "Too many." His eyes were distant.

Ford watched Typher and wondered what was going on beneath the surface. After all, he still didn't know much about his new friend beyond his criminal record. Seeing him there, his sun-damaged face occupied with memories, Ford could only guess at what terrible things Typher had seen.

Suddenly tired, Ford rubbed his eyes, pushing up his glasses. "If you don't mind, I think I'll turn in. Tell me if anything important happens."

"Will do. It'll take sixteen hours or so to reach Janus. I'll tell you when we get there. If you need anything, I'll be here fixing my leg." He put a white case on the table. "It's a good thing I keep a first aid kit here." Typher put his leg on the table and sprayed his skin with something from the kit.

"Do you need any help with that?"

"No. I have a bit of medical training, and this is an easy fix. Should be fine by the time we get there."

"Really? That's some potent medicine." Ford eyed the first aid kit with new appreciation and curiosity.

"Yeah. If you ever get a boo-boo, I've got you covered." Typher jammed a pill into his mouth and swallowed.

Ford left Typher to find his temporary living quarters. As he walked, he thought about the path ahead.

The thought of wandering around Janus filled him with dread. He had no leads for finding Bill's weakness, and he only had sixteen hours to decide where to look. The last thing he wanted was to spend forever searching, but never finding anything.

 _I wish I had more leads_.

Ford went down one of the few hallways and found a compact room. On the door, the words _party room_ were scratched into the metal. The door automatically slid sideways, but gave up halfway through. With a grunt, Ford shoved it all the way over.

Two cots that were built into the wall and a desk took up most of the room. The navy blue covers of the lower bed looked as though they hadn't been made in years. Ford inspected the sheets; they had brown stains and playing cards to a game he was unfamiliar with tucked in the folds. Underneath the pillow was a worn photo of a purple tentacled alien. A distorted, not-quite-human lipstick kiss adorned the corner.

Ford cringed and tossed the photo onto the desk, then sat on the cot, testing it. He yelped when he sank farther than he was expecting into a water bed. He frowned as the water sloshed.

With a sigh, Ford retrieved his journal and pen from his pockets. Opening up to a clean page, he sketched the basic shape of Tushuuk from memory.

* * *

Jxqwkhu'v wkh wbsh wr krog d juxgjh.


	10. Fed to the Rules

The distant sun peeked at Ford and Typher through a dark covering of clouds.

The landscape was mostly in shadow thanks to the thick atmosphere, but a beacon of light up ahead broke through the darkness. They were still far away, but Ford could see towers jutting into the sky. Veins of light--roadways--led to the heart of a city like a digital version of Rome.

"So, where are you headed after this?" Ford asked.

Typher, who was sitting beside him in the pilot's chair, answered immediately. "Since I'm here, I figured I'd get past Republic customs to dimension Lottocron 9. It's been a while since I've been home. I need to check on my mom..." He grew quiet, lost in thought.

"Is she all right?"

"Oh, um, well... she's in a bad place, both literally and figuratively. Her health could be better."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Typher drummed his fingers on the control wheel and kept his eyes locked on the windshield. They were silent as they entered the edge of the city.

Complex railway systems snaked through metal towers. Blue lights lined the buildings and streets; the paths of light fed into a swollen facility that dominated the city center.

From Ford's view, he couldn't see any messy avenues or ramshackle buildings. With the precise grid structure, crisp roads, and clean, identical towers, the city was a perfectionist's dream.

The _Maverick_ wheezed as it dropped in altitude.

"There it is," Typher said. "The Janus spaceport."

They landed beside the facility in a parking lot. Beside them, the space equivalent of a motor home was being inspected by two Republic authorities. One of the uniformed guards used a device to scan the hull of the motor home. Two aliens--a blue cyclops and a pink humanoid with three eyes--stood nearby and scowled at them. Each of wore a leather jacket that said d _imension 183-G or bust_ on the back.

Typher eyed the guard's scanner with a pucker to his lips.

"Thanks for the ride," Ford said.

"You're welcome. Good luck with defeating Bill Cipher."

"Thanks." _I'll need it._

Ford left the cockpit and descended the drop-down walkway. The docking station was packed with a variety of aliens, none of them alike. Guards went in pairs to inspect different ships.

He approached a black sign at the edge of the lot. It had glowing letters that danced across the screen as they updated constantly. Ford spotted different dimensions with words like "available"or "not active"beside them, along with times and symbols. The amount of choices made him feel light-headed.

_I don't even know where to start_. _Where can I find information on Bill's weaknesses?_

"I never want to see the inside of a Gunfarian vessel ever again."

Ford looked up and noticed a couple of guards having a conversation next to the screen.

"You and me both. When I saw that _thing_ scurry under the table..." She shuddered. The taller guard put a consoling hand on the other's shoulder.

They chatted for a bit, but the conversation didn't hold Ford's interest. As the conversation went on, Ford put a hand to his chin and tried to pick out a single dimension from the board, but it changed so quickly, it was impossible to look at an option for long. Then something the guards said pricked at Ford's attention.

"Can you believe we're being reassigned?" the taller one asked.

The other shook her head. "No. Do they really think Bill Cipher is that much of a problem? He keeps to the Nightmare Realm, doesn't he?"

"That's what _I_ thought. But apparently things have been unsettled lately. I heard that the demon is trying to escape."

"Isn't he always?"

"Yeah, but he's been more active than usual, and this time he got close."

The shorter one was quiet. "Whoa. Really?"

"It was some kind of accident with a closed dimension. I don't know the full story. I think some scientist discovered interdimensional travel, but he landed right in Cipher's grasp. We're lucky that nothing worse happened. I guess that's why we're being reassigned--to keep watch on the Nightmare Realm and make sure that nothing happens. But if Cipher is that determined..." He shook his head. "I doubt there's a lot we can do. I'm pretty sure there are more versions of the scientist in other dimensions, and Bill only has to get lucky with one of them."

As they spoke, Ford stared at the screen, not seeing the words. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his lungs chastised him with a burning sensation. Pulling in a gradual breath to calm himself, he looked over at the guards. They had both moved on in their conversation, but they still seemed to have a solemn mood.

_I have to hurry. There's no telling what Bill will do while I delay._

"Excuse me," Ford said, "can you help me find my way? I'm lost."

"Certainly," said the female guard. Upon closer inspection, Ford saw that her name tag said _Karen._ The other guard's name was Felix. "What can we help you find?"

"I... I don't know."

The faces of the two guards shifted; they watched him with curious expressions.

"What's your name?"

"Stanley Pines," he lied.

Felix's mouth twisted. He pulled a scanner from his belt. Karen tapped her wrist and created a holographic tablet, then scrolled down a list of names, her eyes flitting back and forth.

"Is there a problem?" Ford asked.

Felix didn't answer as he scanned Ford. A blue light went from his head to his toes.

Karen gave a subtle nod to Felix. Both of them drew their weapons.

"You need to come with us, Mr. Pines," Felix said. "There's something that we need to clear up."

Ford held his hands up. "Hey, hold on! What's this about?"

"We have reports of a 'Stanley Pines' from dimension 47'\ that assaulted Republic Enforcers. He's also charged with aiding illegal Gateway activities. We need to confirm if this is you or not." She showed him a blurry picture of a man that looked remarkably like him. He was dressed from head to toe in an orange suit with only his profile visible through his helmet. Ford recognized Stanley in an instant.

_He's alive._

Ford bowed his head, his lips parted. He felt as though a tension left him, one that he didn't even know he was carrying. He bit his lip to keep from smiling.

_It's possible... I could actually find him. I have a clue. It's not much, but it's something. Once all this is over, once Bill is gone... we could go home. Together._

"We doubt this is you, since you showed up on the scanner as Stanford Pines, but we want to make sure," Karen said. "If you're Stanford Pines, we have orders from Director Gunther to send you home."

Another pair of Enforcers passed by. Typher struggled between them as they pulled him toward the facility.

"Let me go!" he said. "You've got the wrong guy!"

"Hey!" Ford called out. "What are you doing with him?"

The Enforcers turned to look at him. With the Enforcers distracted, Typher pulled a tiny silver gun from his jacket pocket and lunged at them, jabbing it into their necks. They collapsed, unconscious.

Typher bolted back to the _Maverick_. It only took a second for Ford to decide what to do next.

He ran after Typher.

"Wait, stop!" Felix yelled.

Darts flew over Ford's shoulder and pegged an alien in a greasy tank top. The alien froze in place, his eyes wide.

Ford pushed aside a couple of aliens and stepped on a tail as he followed Typher.

"Typher, wait!" he shouted.

Typher turned his head and grimaced. "Pines, what are you doing?"

He pulled up beside Typher. His words came in short bursts as he fought for breath. "I can't stay here! Gunther... told them I was coming. They'll send me home!"

Rain started up, pelting the concrete. Ford squinted through his rain-dotted glasses.

"Fine," Typher panted, "but you're gonna... make yourself an outlaw... by coming with me."

"So be it!"

As Ford zig-zagged through the ships, he spotted a gray hull with a blue stain across it. The _Maverick_ was sitting under a light, tranquil and undisturbed. The walkway was deployed.

They ran into the ship and Typher slammed the button to close the walkway. It closed, and soon after it did, the Enforcers pounded on the outside.

"That could've gone better," Typher said. "I used to use the identity of one of my parallel selves to get through security, but they have scanners now. I guess I can't fool them anymore." He frowned. "Time for plan B."

Ford followed Typher into the main body of the ship. An Enforcer was limp on the floor, blocking the path.

"Help me get this lady to the cockpit," Typher said. "I knocked her out when they tried to arrest me."

They brought the Enforcer to the cockpit and propped her up on the copilot seat. Typher found a roll of duct tape and tossed it to Ford.

He eyed the duct tape, his eyebrows furrowed. _I'm starting to have second thoughts. Maybe going home wouldn't be so bad._

But it was too late to leave now.

As he wrapped the Enforcer, Typher took the ship to the air and hovered toward one of the large tunnels that fed into the facility.

Guards were everywhere--some patrolled on the ground, while others manned turrets around the building. There was a line of ships at the beginning of each tunnel. As they approached one, Ford could see that the mouth of the tunnel was guarded by a force-field. Each ship took its turn at a booth to present their credentials before being let through.

Typher cut in front of the line and received several angry honks. The man at the booth looked from Typher to Ford, then to the Enforcer tied up in the copilot chair.

Typher leaned forward and spoke into the microphone on his dashboard. His words were magnified outside the ship. "I've taken an Enforcer hostage. Let us through and we'll let her live."

Ford widened his eyes and shot Typher an incredulous look. Typher ignored him.

The booth attendee fumbled with a keyboard. A bright screen that said _accepting communication request_ popped up the far wall in his office, illuminating the sweat that beaded on his forehead.

"I need Captain Huxworth!"

The screen fizzled, switching to a feed of a scarred and splotchy face. The man on screen had a burn scar that reached across the right of his face like a mess of red thread. His low-hanging eyebrows pulled together with annoyance.

"What's the issue?" he said.

"These two have an Enforcer as a hostage, and they're demanding to be let through."

Huxworth was silent for a moment. Ford couldn't tell if he was deliberating, or if the screen had frozen. "Really?" he said at last, unconcerned. "You're bluffing."

Typher grabbed the gun from Ford's holster and aimed it at the Enforcer's head. Ford was about to say something heated to Typher, but he had to choke back his outrage when Typher glared at him, silently urging Ford to keep quiet.

_I know he wants me to trust him, but this... this is insane!_

Huxworth didn't look surprised by Typher's move. "Well, I guess we have no choice but to let them through."

"Sir?"

"Let them through, private." A small smile came to the captain's face. Typher's hand clenched and unclenched where only Ford could see it.

The private turned to them, confused, but did as he was commanded and lowered a power switch on his control console. The humming force field disappeared, giving them a clear shot to the milky white portal at the end of the tunnel. Typher moved the ship forward, his jaw tight. Tension hung in the air as they silently sped toward the portal. White filled the windshield.

When the white faded, a similar scene greeted them. They flew through another tunnel and stopped at a second force-field. The attendee at the booth had his feet propped on the counter. He was reading a magazine that said _Rouge_ across the top in a curling font; a picture of a fat alien in a red dress was on the front with the words _find out how she lost eighty pounds of retained mucus._ The attendee blew a bubble with his gum and slammed a button on his dashboard, lowering the force field.

Typher took off into the stratosphere. Ford dug all twelve of his fingers into the shoulder of the copilot chair as the ship cut through the clouds, then leveled out and lowered in altitude, aiming for a city.

In contrast to the city on Janus, this metropolis was anything but organized. Buildings were placed wherever there was room, as though the towers had grown up and around each other in an attempt to reach the sun. Typher took the ship into the midst of it, structures and other ships whipping past in a blur.

They plummeted into a section of tunnel systems with dim lighting. Typher dodged other ships; some recoiled and honked as they swerved to avoid them.

They came out of the tunnel system to an open strip, and the ship slowed dramatically. Empty husks of buildings with glowing _keep out_ signs were sandwiched along the side. There were only two businesses that still looked active--a pawn shop and a bar. The _Maverick_ landed in an alleyway between the two buildings.

"Let's go," Typher said, powering the ship down.

"What about her?" Ford gestured to the Enforcer.

"Let's leave her outside. Help me get her out of this."

They pulled the unconscious Enforcer free of the duct tape and carried her down the walkway, placing her outside the ship. As soon as they set the Enforcer down, Typher went to the _Maverick_ and ran his hands over sections of the ship. He paused, then peeled a hard-to-see disk from the metal. He walked to the edge of the strip and threw the disk into an abyss.

"Tracking device," Typher explained. "They must have tagged us on our way out. Enforcers will be here soon." He went back to the ship and typed something into the walkway keypad. The walkway shut itself, and the outside of the ship faded until it was camouflaged to look like the area around it. The only sign that the _Maverick_ was there was the slight distortion that marked the curve of the ship.

"That's remarkable," Ford said. He was about to ask how the cloaking function worked when he noticed that Typher was nowhere to be seen. Ford left the alley just in time to see Typher enter the bar.

Ford followed him inside. The smell of perspiration and piña coladas washed over him. A heavy beat pulsed in his ears--a synthesized tune, rumbling and mixing with the voices of the occupants. He could barely hear himself think. Typher bobbed his head to the beat.

Everything was bathed in blue light. People and aliens alike were sipping neon-colored drinks at lit glass tables, and they were decked out in fashions that would've been strange even among Earth's most eccentric. Ford passed a man with light-up shorts that shifted like a kaleidoscope. An alien with no face wore a squid like a dress. A girl with an eye on her forehead watched Ford walk past her and smiled, revealing chrome teeth. Ford looked away quickly.

There was a second level to the bar; a set of stairs led to a balcony that wrapped around the walls. A purple alien stared at the guests below with half-lidded eyes. He was pudgy, with barely any neck, and wore a track suit. He stirred his green drink lazily.

Behind the bar, there was a neon sign on the wall that said in large blue and green letters _THE FORGOTTEN OASIS._ The glass counter encased hundreds of strange, multicolored liquids and alcoholic brands that Ford didn't recognize. Typher walked to the bar and placed his hands on the counter.

There was only one bartender, and he was wiping a different section of the counter. His hair was gray, and it was paired with a thick beard. When he saw Typher, he stopped his polishing.

"Typher? You're back. Where have you been? What's with the bandage on your leg--"

"My leg is fine. I don't have a lot of time to talk, Ben. Enforcers are on their way. Can you help me out?"

"Oh, for the Axolotl's sake." Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not again." He clasped a bottle of green liquid sitting on a shelf behind him and yanked it like a lever. A trap door behind the counter slid open.

"Thanks Ben. You're a lifesaver." Typher hopped over the counter.

Ben stared at Ford as he followed Typher into the dark space. When he hopped down, his feet slapped against the metal floor. The trap door slid shut, leaving them in complete darkness. Ford could still hear the club music, but it was muffled. Only a few minutes passed before Ben was engaged in a conversation.

"Hello there," Ben said above, his voice barely audible. "What can I do for you?"

"An Enforcer was found outside your establishment, unconscious. Do you know anything about that?"

Ben paused. "No."

"Have you seen these two?"

Another pause. "No sir, I can't say I have."

"Their names are Stanford Pines and Typher Ayden. They illegally came to this dimension. Typher Ayden in particular has a long list of other offenses, and it's imperative that we find and incarcerate them."

"Right. Well, if I see anything, I'll be sure to contact you."

Minutes passed in silence before the trapdoor opened again. Blue light colored the boxes and crates of the hiding space. Typher and Ford climbed out.

Ben was leaning against the counter, his arms folded. His keen eyes searched Typher. "It's been a while. How did you get arrested this time?"

Typher grabbed a bottle and a cup from the glass counter and poured himself a drink. "I was giving a client the cure for sphon... damn, I can't ever say it--sphon _faucia_ virus. One of my informants ratted me out." He stared off into the distance and took a swig. "It's getting harder to help anyone. They have scanners now; I can't just fake documents anymore."

"Well, there will always be Gateways."

"The Republic's been cracking down on those, too. Not a whole lot of options left--especially when the other empires are selfish with their portals."

Ben sighed. "Maybe it's for the best. At least with less jobs, you can take care of your mother. She's been using a lot of synth lately."

Typher scowled at the floor. "Using the only credits we have for synth." He took another sip. "Typical."

Ben's expression softened. "I've been monitoring how much she gets. I've seen some improvement."

Typher set his glass on the counter and rubbed his face. "Improvement? You mean she can remember her own name now? She's never gonna get better, Ben. Don't kid yourself."

"What's synth?" Ford asked.

Typher and Ben looked at Ford as though they'd forgotten he was there.

"It's a hallucinogen that's popular here," Typher said. "My mom's real fond of it. It's better than dealing with reality, in her opinion."

Ford didn't know what to say to this.

Typher downed the rest of his drink, then leaped over the counter and went to walk out of the bar.

"Typher, wait," Ford said.

Typher stopped and turned his head.

Ford came out from behind the counter. "Where are you headed?"

"Home," he said.

Typher continued walking. Ford kept pace with him. They skirted around a brawny alien, his mohawk brushing the ceiling. When they exited the doors, the sky was orange.

The neon sign for the bar flickered. The ghetto look seemed to be a pattern with all the buildings in the area--at least the ones close to the ground. Higher up, the towers were shinier, with newer signs and fancier ships docked outside in private landing ports. Bridges connected the higher towers, like a civilization living in treetops to escape the toxic environment below.

"Well Ford, welcome to Tantiga," Typher said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You'll never find a planet more dedicated to thrills, adrenaline, and crime. I hope you enjoy your stay. It's the perfect place for criminals like us to lie low."

"You're leaving me here?"

"Yep. I got you to Janus, like you asked. I'm sorry about making you a criminal, but you wanted to come along. I figured Tantiga would be the next best thing to Janus--might even be better. There are portals here with lax security. You should be fine." Typher looked away, disinterested with Ford's discomfort at being left alone on an alien planet.

"I... okay then." It all felt so abrupt. While he hadn't known Typher for long, Ford had relied on and trusted him more than anyone since Fiddleford. Or Stanley. It didn't feel right to let him go, but at the same time, Typher seemed to have no interest in sticking around.

_Well, what did I expect? Everyone leaves eventually. The only one I should be relying on is myself._

"I guess this is goodbye?" Ford asked.

"Uh-huh," Typher replied. He took a step toward the alley, then stopped, sighing. He turned back to Ford. "By the way, if you ever... I don't know, need help... talk to Ben. He's basically family, and if you mention me, he'll get you out of trouble, if you need it."

Ford nodded.

"Well, see you," Typher said. He continued on his way and disappeared into the alley.

The _Maverick_ pulled out of the alley, making a sound like an oversized hairdryer as it flew into the maze of a city beyond. Ford watched it go until it was out of sight.

As Ford looked at the city, it seemed larger and more hostile than before.

_Well... I might as well start my search for Bill's weaknesses here. This place is as promising as any._

With no better options, he turned around and went back into the humid atmosphere of the bar.

* * *

ZLWKLQ WKDW EDU OXUNV DQ LQFRQVSLFXRXV, RYHUZHLJKW GDQJHU.


	11. So Much to See

Sorry about the late upload! Life events prevented me from getting it up sooner.

* * *

 

With his car suspended in white light, Stanley felt his gut lurch, and nausea climbed up his throat.

His front wheels touched solid ground with a jolt, snapping his head back. His seat belt, which he had neglected to wear, popped on automatically to keep him from flying out of his seat.

Low-hanging vines nearly touched the windshield as his car whipped past. The road ahead stretched on, dappled with light. It curved gracefully through a thick, purple jungle. The color hurt his eyes to look at; while purple was just another hue in the crayon box, it seemed _wrong_ to see vines, ferns, and trees the color of jelly dominating the landscape. The trees were gigantic--larger than anything Stanley had seen on Earth. Purple winged creatures with two heads took flight, fleeing from the oncoming car and squawking.

Several other cars joined him, coming from behind. He wasn't sure where everyone else had gone-he remembered there being more cars, but only a portion of them seemed to be there.

"Hey Amy, what place are we in?"

"I can see ninety-seven cars ahead of us on the radar." Her voice lowered. "I'm sorry, Stanley. I did not anticipate the unfair starting advantage."

"Hey, it's okay. Not even you can predict everything. Besides, we still have a shot at winning. I mean, we're still alive, aren't we?"

There was a pause. "I... suppose that's true." She returned to a more upbeat tone. "Well, if it helps, I searched the car for tools. I found that it's equipped with boosters, thrusters, and a grappling hook. I also just found that I can create an electrical stunner if I overload the power compressors."

"It's something." Stanley checked the rear view mirror. The competition was close behind. "They're gaining on us. Any chance that you could use the stunner?"

"It will take a few minutes for the compressors to overload. Be careful until then."

The racers behind them approached. Many of the cars were sleeker than Stanley's; these cars were aerodynamic machines built to race. A black car with red stripes popped a gun from its hood and aimed it at Stanley.

"Incoming!" Stanley jerked the wheel to the left and a bolt of plasma hit the road.

He looked in his rear view mirror to keep an eye on the gun. The gun readjusted to fire at their new position. Stanley swerved back and forth. The car shot at them a few more times, each shot missing its target. The other cars hung back, watching the dance.

The black car sped up, coming neck and neck with Stanley. It aimed its gun directly at his window. Stanley hit his brakes and slid behind the car.

Just as he did so, the hood of Stanley's car sparked with electricity and created a bubble of light around his vehicle. When it touched the black car, it swerved off the road and crashed through the road barrier, falling into the jungle.

"Nice work, Ames," Stanley said.

"That car must be more dependent on automated steering. This car is an older model--electrical attacks wouldn't have the same effect."

Stanley groaned. "If everyone breaks the rules, it takes the advantage out of cheating."

Without warning, the steering wheel resisted and made a hard right without Stanley's say so. The car jerked to the right, narrowly missing a mess of vines that descended from the treetops and hit the ground, constricting around empty space.

Stanley gaped at the rear view mirror. "What was that?!"

"Sentient vines," Amy said matter-of-factly. "The plants here must be carnivorous."

The vines descended again, but this time they grabbed one of the cars in back. The car was wrapped in purple and hauled to the top of trees, disappearing into the leaves. Several other cars were grabbed as well. Stanley could hear distant screams as the vines pulled them upward. He shivered and kept his eyes fixed on the road as he tried to ignore the sound.

Now that he was alone on the road, they continued on, going up and down the gentle rolling hills. The two suns above them made the road shimmer, giving the jungle an amethyst glow.

Although Stanley ignored the speed limit back on Earth, he couldn't help but look down at his speedometer and notice that he was zipping by at a speed he'd never reached before. Despite the high speed, he didn't feel nervous. His car was responsive and he felt like he was in control, for the most part. Whenever he wasn't, Amy seemed to have his back.

"There's an interesting development up ahead," Amy said. "A fork in the road. One road continues on the surface, while the other road goes into some kind of spiral formation and into a tunnel. I think it may be a shortcut. Which way should we take?"

"Is that even a question? Let's take the shortcut." Stanley squinted. "I _think_ I see the spiral up ahead."

"Stanley... how good is your vision?"

"Good enough." The entrance to the spiral became clearer to Stanley as he approached. "Oh, okay. _Now_ I see it." He turned the wheel slightly, going with the gentle curve of the corkscrew. He turned his wheel more as he got closer to the center. Down below, Stanley could see a dark, circular opening with a road going down into it at a steep angle. "Uh, Amy? Is this car equipped for falling?"

She didn't seem to be perturbed by this most recent development. "Not for falling, but we have other options."

Stanley turned another tight loop that led directly to the mouth of the opening. "Amy?"

"The track ahead is made of a ferromagnetic material. Our tires can grip the ground magnetically. I believe this track was built especially for that purpose."

 _This disembodied voice is gonna get me killed._ "All right, if you say so," Stanley said. With fingers tight on the wheel, Stanley aimed for the cavity.

There was a loud _bzzzrp_ as they plunged into the tunnel. Stanley had expected the car to crash into the tunnel wall, but instead the tires gripped the track as though they were glued to it. Stanley was flung forward; if it wasn't for his seat belt, he would've flown through the windshield with the abrupt change of direction. Stanley opened his eyes slowly, then looked around at the tunnel that was illuminated by their headlights.

Stanley leaned back in his seat and ran one hand through his hair, relief coursing through him.

The vertical drop leveled out in a smooth curve, eventually becoming horizontal again. The dark, metal tunnel was smooth and seemed to stretch on for miles. Stanley had no idea when it would end, or how.

"Someone is approaching," Amy said.

Stanley tensed and pushed harder on the gas. "Can you make us go any faster?"

"We can give ourselves a boost in speed that will last for ten seconds. Would you like me to use it?"

Stanley nodded. "Let's do it. We can't let this guy pass us."

The headlights of the car appeared in Stanley's mirror. It took to the ceiling with its own magnetic wheels. Just as it was about to speed past them, the boost in Stanley's car kicked in, propelling them forward to be evenly matched with the other car. It didn't make a move to attack. If anything, it seemed to be watching them.

"Amy, can you overload the compressor thingy?"

"Affirmative. Overloading power compressors." The car hummed as it prepared the attack.

Ahead, a light became visible. It started as just a pinprick and grew to a large circle.

Stanley narrowed his eyes at the white light. "Is that the exit?"

"In a way. It's a portal."

There was a flash of light above Stanley. The golden car pulled ahead in an instant, and the power compressors fully overloaded just as it was out of reach. Its golden, reflective body passed through the white circle and disappeared.

"I don't know where the portal will take us," Amy said. "I can't sense anything beyond it; it's like it's just empty air, or nothing at all."

Stanley pressed his lips together, a quivering feeling inside his chest. He couldn't explain why, but something within him didn't want to back off or slow down as they came at the portal. Maybe it was an idea that was instilled him back when he was forced into the boxing ring by his father. Shying away would be the coward's way out--if he was going to face this, it had to be head on. Nothing good ever came from being too subtle.

"We're going all in," Stanley said. He flattened his foot on the pedal and approached the unknown at top speed.

The portal rushed at them like an oncoming wall. Stanley steeled himself against his inclination to flinch away.

After rushing through the glowing circle, the first thing Stanley saw was a sky marked by a gigantic, red planet with clouded layers that reminded him of the frothy layers of a cappuccino. The gas giant obscured most of the glittering stars.

"Whoa!" Stanley yelled in terror as they shot forward with the residual speed from the tunnel. His stomach dropped as they fell from a height that could kill.

Far below, a bright lake of red bubbled--a pool of lava came before the road they were meant to land on, rippling with searing heat.

There was a hissing sound from outside, and the car slowed its descent.

"Thrusters engaged," Amy said calmly.

The car came to a healthy speed and landed on the lip of the road, the tires squeaking. The lava sat just behind the car. Had they been going any slower, the car would've plunged into the molten rock.

The car screeched into action, ripping forward along the new, flat track. Stanley's hands felt hot on the steering wheel. He looked at the lava in the rearview mirror, his heart coming to a stable tempo as it receded in the distance.

The land ahead of them was dark, as though it were burnt to a crisp. Spires of rock jutted up here and there, with streams of red flowing between them.

As they passed through the stretch of lifeless landscape, a cloud of dust kicked up off the road to their left. The golden car spun its wheels and came onto the road, pulling up side by side with Stanley.

Stanley glared at the rival car's tinted windows.

A new voice crackled on the radio receiver. "Hey there. I'm Maya. It's funny, I didn't think there were any other humans racing today. Guess I was wrong."

Stanley raised his eyebrows. "I'm Stanley. Any particular reason why you're talking to me?"

"Just checking in on the competition. Looks like I don't have much to worry about, though."

Stanley's spine stiffened. "Oh yeah? Well how's _this_ for competition?" Stanley turned the wheel sharply, digging into Maya's space. Maya backed away, her wheels momentarily going off-road.

"Easy there, tiger. Just being honest, is all. Your chances are slim when you're driving a bucket of bolts like that. And from scanning your car, I can see that you don't even have a racing AI."

"My primary directive is medical in nature, yes," Amy said, "but I believe I can still help Stanley win this race."

"Ms. Hill," said a new male voice. The voice sounded more automated than human with its unusual, raspy tone. "I doubt this racer will take your offer."

"C'mon, Winston, he's not _that_ stupid," Maya said.

"Offer? What offer?" Stanley said.

"Look at us, Stanley. We're both at the back of the pack. We're at a disadvantage. The racers at the front of the pack have good cars and better teams. Us... we're both solo. So, let's cut to the chase. I say we work together to win this race--there's no way we're going to win it alone. If you team up with me, I'll protect you from rival cars as well as give you a sixth of the winnings."

"What? Only a sixth?"

"That's more than you'd make racing by yourself, hon. I'm giving you a chance to walk away with guaranteed cash. Are you really going to say no to that?"

An uncomfortable feeling tugged at Stanley's gut. It was as though Maya knew his situation. He needed money. He always did. But trusting a complete stranger for only a sixth of the money seemed like a poor choice.

"Thanks but no thanks," Stanley said. "I'll take my chances."

There was silence on the other end. "That's... unexpected. Well, fine. If you change your mind, I'll be somewhere ahead of you. Toodles."

Maya shot forward with a roar of her engine.

As they entered a forest of rock spires, the road split off into two paths, snaking off in different directions. Maya picked one path while Stanley picked the other. Stanley furrowed his brow as he concentrated, turning left and right as the path weaved. He saw flashes of Maya's golden car as his path intersected with hers.

Eventually the paths came together, spitting them out on a main road that sloped up a large mountainside. At the top of the mountain was bright orange light-more lava. The lava spewed from the peak of the mountain and ran down the sides in glowing ribbons. Maya was far ahead at this point; she was already going up the incline, whereas Stanley had just started.

Stanley pressed his foot firmly on the gas pedal to account for the new steepness. Jagged rocks flashed past them. With the new angle, they had a good view of the titan planet above.

Up ahead, Stanley could see that the road at the top of the volcano disappeared in the rivers of lava. It was as though the designers of the race wanted them to cut directly over the top of the volcano. If he squinted, he could make out a tiny white blob obscured by smoke at the pinnacle.

"How are we gonna get up _there_?" Stanley asked.

"There's nothing I can find that will protect us other than our shoddy energy shield. We could use the thrusters, but they're slow. It will take us a while to reach the top."

"Great," Stanley said. He noticed that Maya was going full speed at the lava with no fear. Armored plates had sprung up on her car, covering its golden finish. _If I could just piggyback on her car, that would work._ "I have an idea," Stanley said. "Amy, shoot Maya with the grappling hook."

The car accelerated. Stanley's back pressed harder into the seat as they zipped forward. The steering wheel vibrated under his fingers. Maya was already traversing through the lava, her car wading through it as though it were goo. The grappling hook line shot out from the front of Stanley's car, hitting Maya's in the back and gripping on.

"Yeah! Grappling hook!" Stanley shouted. "Now put on the thrusters."

Their car shot upward, and Maya's car tugged them along like a balloon as it drove through the lava.

"This is surprisingly effective," Amy said. "Good thinking."

When Maya entered the portal, Amy disengaged the grappling hook and the thrusters, allowing them to fall through the portal. Stanley held his breath as the car dove through the light.

The white faded to a gray as they traveled through the portal. A stretch of road formed beneath them. The road had a metallic glimmer to it, as though it were made of chrome.

Stanley's car landed on the road with a screech. He shuddered at the impact, then looked around at his surroundings. The only piece of solid ground appeared to be the road that was snaking through the clouds, unsupported by anything. The sky around them was a gray and white, and cottony clouds obscured parts of the track.

"We seem to be in the thick atmosphere of a rocky planet," Amy said. "I can sense the ground far, far below."

Stanley nodded even though he wasn't really listening. He was focused on the golden car winking out of sight ahead of them. Maya took a hard right and disappeared behind a bank of clouds.

Stanley followed Maya into the fog. He couldn't see anything, but he kept his foot pressed hard against the gas pedal.

"I'll use the sensors to find the road," Amy said. The word _initializing_ popped up on the left of the windshield. An outline of the road in green appeared, showing that their path was going to take a sharp turn upwards.

It took a few minutes to get to the top of the steep hill. When they did, the road went downwards in an equally steep slope. The clouds cleared, showing a path that dive-bombed like a roller coaster and ended in a jump. The gap that they were expected to jump was enormous. Stanley saw Maya on the other side, driving into the clouds. Stanley breathed in through his nose and clenched the wheel.

"Amy, it's time to use the boosters. We're making that jump."

Stanley kept his foot glued to the gas pedal as they went down the hill. With a set jaw and a gaze focused on his destination, he sent the car ripping through the air. The car glided down the slope as the speedometer's needle wiggled at its top speed. Amy turned on the boosters just as they were pulling into the ramp.

Stanley cried out as the car launched into the air. A solid ten seconds of flying passed before the road came into view again. When they came within a few feet, there was a large gust of wind that blew them slightly to the right. Amy turned on the magnetic wheels, which pulled them back on track just in time. The wheels connected with the side of the road as Stanley swerved in a panic. Had it not been for the magnetic track, the car would've plunged to the ground.

He overcorrected, making them veer to the left. The road didn't have any barriers, and the edges were rounded, with the road being a cylinder shape that could be raced on from any side. Stanley accidentally brought the car to the underbelly of the road. Black spots flashed over his vision. He jerked the wheel back to the right, then felt a force combat his steering, preventing him from turning it too far.

The car came back to the topside of the road and stayed there. Stanley tilted his head forward and swallowed as vertigo dominated his head.

Stanley sat up straight again, his insides still unsettled. "Thanks, Ames."

"You're welcome," she said. "Also, I have a bit of good news."

"Yeah?"

"There are other racers up ahead. It appears that we have caught up to the main pack."

Stanley raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

The clouds cleared. Ahead of them, a long strip of road was filled with cars.

He pumped his fist in the air. "Hah! Take that, aliens!"

Stanley neared the back of the pack. Most of them were driving on the topside of the road, while only a few dared to go upside down. Stanley yanked the wheel to the right, coming to the underside.

"Are the boosters ready to fire?" Stanley asked.

"Yes."

"Then let's go!"

When the boosters kicked in, Stanley weaved through the cars on the underbelly, coming out ahead.

"Watch out!" Amy said. Before Stanley could turn the wheel, it moved on its own, avoiding a shot of plasma from one of the cars behind them.

In retaliation, Amy overloaded the power compressors and sent out a wave of energy. The cars that were closest to them fell from the slippery chrome to the clouds below.

"Damn," Stanley said as he watched the cars get swallowed by the white and gray. He grimaced at the churning mass of white vapor.

"There seems to be a branching path coming up," Amy said. "If we want to stay ahead, I recommend that we go left."

Stanley came back to the top of the road. Just as Amy said, the road branched off. Stanley took a left as Amy instructed. Some of the other cars followed him, while a certain selection didn't. Both roads curved back to each other as though they were going to meet up again, but instead of joining together, the two roads pointed straight down. The two roads spiraled around each other in a double helix.

The roads flattened out again and went side by side. Both roads changed direction, going to the left. Stanley's road continued right side up, while the other road curved and connected on the bottom so that the other group of drivers was now upside down.

The road curved into a gigantic loop-the-loop. Stanley held his breath as he and the other cars started in the upward motion. When they completed the full three-hundred and sixty degrees, Stanley and the cars that were on the inside of the loop were slightly farther ahead than the cars who were on the outside.

He could see a different group of cars up ahead on a winding stretch of road that comprised the racers in the lead. Maya's car was among them.

With a burst of speed from his boosters every so often, Stanley inched his way to the leading group. The track continued on with its bizarre twists and turns. Some racers fell behind, allowing Stanley to take their place. With Amy's help, they were slowly nearing the lead. The racers in the leading group glanced at Stanley through their windows with confusion and frustration, watching as the car that Stanley stole from the parking lot of a supermarket came into single digit rankings.

"Okay Amy, are we ready to shock these guys?" Stanley said.

"Absolutely. Overloaaaaading..." Amy's voice lowered in pitch and died. All of the instruments on the dashboard went dark. The light behind the speedometer and everything else turned off. Pushing the gas pedal suddenly did nothing.

"Amy? Amy!" No one responded. The car slowed while the leading group pulled away. In his rear view mirror, Stanley could see the previous bunch of cars catching up.

He slammed the dashboard with his fist. Nothing happened. "No, come on! We were so close. Not now." Stanley sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He bared his teeth and glared at the console. "Stupid car. Work!" He landed a fist on the dash again.

This time, the lights of the car flickered in response. Stanley froze and watched as the lights came back to life. He touched the gas pedal as an experiment. The car moved forward. He crushed his foot onto the gas pedal and the car was off again just in time to stay ahead of the others.

"Okay." Stanley sighed with relief. "We're back in business. That just about gave me a heart attack. What was that all about anyway?"

There was no answer. Instead, there was nothing but a faint static rumble from the radio.

"Amy? You there?"

Only silence responded.

"Oh... no no no. Oh no. You can't do this to me. Amy? Amy! Come on. You've gotta be joking. Say something!"

The static fizzed at him.

The road ahead suddenly filled him with trepidation. He could see a blurry, probably complex road pattern up ahead. The buttons on the dashboard labeled in an alien language suddenly seemed hostile, as though they were mocking Stanley and his inability to understand them. He had no idea what to press to get the same results as Amy. Stanley's palms felt sticky with sweat on the steering wheel.

He suddenly wished that the magnetic tires would fail, letting him end the race quickly. There was no reason to drag this out. Winning was out of the question. Without Amy, just surviving the rest of the race would be difficult.

 _It's okay,_ he thought, _maybe I can still get through this. All I have to do is avoid the others, somehow figure out what buttons to press, and pull out of here with the interdimensional equivalent of a soccer mom mobile. Piece of cake._

* * *

Pdbd'v ghdo lv vrxqglqj suhwwb jrrg uljkw qrz.


	12. So Much to Do

"Back so soon?" Ben asked when Ford came to his counter. He was cleaning an already spotless cup with his rag. He held it up to the light, then seeing the clear sparkle, he put it with the others in a neat row behind him. The collection of glasses and bottles seemed to be the cleanest thing in the bar—or on Tantiga, for that matter.

"I need help," Ford said. "Is there an information database somewhere? I need to find research on Bill Cipher."

Ben stared at Ford. "That's an odd request. Why would you need that, son?"

Ford thought about the long, complicated explanation. Dancing on the tables sounded like a better option than recounting the story of his struggle to this stranger. "Please, just answer the question."

Ben folded his rag in half twice, then tucked the perfect square somewhere beneath the counter, his face thoughtful. "Tantiga doesn't have much in the way of research. You'd have more luck at the Library of Alexandria in the Republic's origin dimension. But seeing as how you're an outlaw, that probably won't cut it. They'd arrest you before you could walk through the doors."

 _The Library of Alexandria in modern times... I can only imagine the well of knowledge it's become._ It was a shame that he made himself an enemy to the U.I.R. so quickly. He would probably never have the chance to peruse the ancient tomes. _No... it's a shame that such a vast wealth of knowledge belongs to people like them._

"Okay, what about a weapon expert?" Ford asked. "They might know details that can help me. Where can I find one?"

"If it's weapons you want, I'd go see Yaven." Ben pointed to the alien in the tracksuit sitting on the top level. "He's a regular here. He works with all sorts of high-end tech, but mostly rare and powerful weapons. I heard he even makes some himself."

Ford turned to look at the flabby alien sitting on the top tier. "Thanks for the information."

"Any time," Ben said.

Ford made his way to the stairs at the edge of the bar and ascended to the higher tier. The small number of guests on the balcony were dressed in flashier materials, as though they were trying to outdo the people on the bottom. He passed a skinny alien that wore a tunic made from hundreds of tiny bells strung together, and every time the bells moved and made a sound, they would change color and flash. Ford had to turn away from the obnoxious outfit, and instead caught a view of someone wearing a scarf made of what looked like magma. Bright orange lava dripped down their front, but the wearer didn't seem to mind. The psychotic runway models gave Ford disgusted looks as he passed.

 _This takes me back._.. He almost laughed, but his memories sobered him. _Except in high school, I always had someone to sit with._

Yaven lounged in his armchair; his thick arms were the only thing Ford could see from that angle.

Ford stopped, second thoughts pulling at him. _I don't have a lot of options_ , he reasoned. _Besides, there won't be any harm from just talking with him._

Yaven noticed Ford's approach from the corner of his eye. He turned his saggy head to face Ford. His pale lavender skin was wet and shiny, as though he had a coating of mucus, like a frog. Two small tentacles sat on his jawline. With one of his tentacles, he removed the cigar from his mouth and breathed out, creating a cloud of smoke. The smoke formed simple 3-D shapes before dissipating.

"Yaven?" Ford asked.

"That's me. And you must be Stanford Pines."

"Ah... you overheard the Enforcers."

Yaven nodded.

Ford took the smaller chair in front of Yaven. "I heard that you specialize in high-quality weapons."

Yaven smiled, his gray teeth peeking between his lips. "What kind of tech are you looking for?"

"I need to make a weapon that's capable of killing Bill Cipher."

Yaven stroked his face in thought with his small face tentacle. "A hefty order, and not the first time I've heard it. No one ever succeeds, though. What makes you so special?"

Ford narrowed his eyes. "What does it matter?"

"Relax. I was only curious. But if you don't want to tell me about yourself, then I won't pry." Yaven's watery eyes looked Ford over, appraising him. "One of my retrievers came back with a liquidation crystal. When used correctly, a crystal like that is the perfect ingredient for a weapon that can kill even time giants. But they're incredibly hard to get, unless you're me."

"What's a time giant?"

"A colossal beast that possesses powers that can change reality as we know it. Beings like that can give even Bill Cipher trouble in a fight." Yaven leaned forward, his voice lowering. "But the thing is, time giants are almost extinct. And the reason is the liquidation crystal. As it turns out, even time giants are susceptible to being deconstructed at a quantum level."

Ford drummed his fingers on his knee, his pulse quickening. _Of course. Even Bill Cipher would be susceptible to that! This is more than I hoped for._ "What do you want for it?"

Yaven took in another breath of his cigar and let it go. This time, the smoky tendrils formed a rectangular prism and a sphere. "Well, I don't want anything you have—money doesn't do it for me anymore when I can get it so easily—so we'll have to make a deal. It just so happens that I have an opening for a special task. How would you like to participate in Homage?"

"Homage?"

"Yeah, you know, Homage."

They stared at each other.

"Oh. Right," Yaven said. "I forgot. You're not from around here. Well, Homage is a game of risk and strategy. You go in with a team to face a series of challenges, and if your team succeeds, you get enough money to set your grandchildren up for life. Plus, there's an extra reward to keep things interesting—a mystery bonus, if you win. All I want is the bonus item. In exchange for that prize, I'll give you the crystal."

"And if I lose?"

Yaven spread his arms wide. "I'm a master of Homage, Stanford. Almost every team I've sent in has been successful. As such, I have more money than I know what to do with. You won't lose."

"How do you win so often? Do you cheat?"

"Well, yes, there are certain... _advantages_ to being me." Yaven shrugged. "Some game designers respond to bribes. If you join this team, you'll have nothing to worry about. It's actually fortunate that you showed up. I need more members to replenish my team. Many of them have retired, you see. I need someone that can solve puzzles and problems. An innovator. Does that sound like you?"

_Solving puzzles, eh? They've likely never seen a problem-solver like me._

"I'm on a time crunch," Ford said. "How long would this take?"

"Homage will take place in a few days. Once you're done, you can go your own way." Yaven pulled a tablet from his pocket and handed it to Ford. "You can look over the contract, if you're interested."

The rectangular device was surprisingly light in Ford's hands. He inspected the words on the glowing screen, taking note of the phrasing. _**By signing this contract, you are hereby agreeing to participate in Homage. If one should desire to withdraw, penalties will be exacted upon the participant... Homage is a high-risk game that may cause bodily harm... the Tantiga Game Association is not responsible for injuries that may occur such as, but not limited to, eye-gouging, limb reversal, a plunge into the depths of insanity, tongue tumors, sudden weight gain, unexplained pregnancy...**_

Ford look through the list of possible injuries and frowned. _Well, it's not like I haven't encountered dangerous creatures for my research. I've risked most of these injuries already and I'm still alive. Besides, if I win, it will all be worth it._

He used his finger to sign at the bottom. The cursive letters stared back at him. With an uneasy feeling in his gut, he handed the tablet back to Yaven.

"Marvelous," Yaven said. His smile pushed up the fat on his cheeks. "I'll be holding a team meeting tomorrow evening at my mansion. It's not far from here. Just look for the palace with the titanium statues out front. Until then, I bid you adieu." Yaven held his slimy hand out to shake. A cold feeling settled in Ford's rib cage as he grabbed the sticky hand. He gave it a quick shake, no longer than was necessary, and let go, wiping his hand on his trench coat. The handshake gave him flashbacks that he'd rather forget.

"Um... nice doing business with you," Ford said.

"Likewise," Yaven replied.

Ford slipped away from the table as quickly as he could manage and came back to the first floor. Ben looked up from the two gelatinous aliens he was serving.

"So, did you get what you were after?" he asked.

"I think so." Ford rubbed the back of his neck. "I just hope that I didn't make a mistake. He said he wanted me to join his team for a game called Homage. I'm guessing you're familiar with it?"

Ben widened his eyes. "You said you would play in _Homage_?"

The cold spread to Ford's fingers. "Yes, why? Is there something I should know?"

Ben rested his hands on his clean glass counter. "Well, if you're with Yaven, I'm sure you'll be fine. It's just... Homage is the most infamous game on the planet. In Homage, only one team makes it out of that tower alive-the other competitors are either killed during the game, or after one of the teams finishes first. It's a brutal piece of entertainment for the depraved upper-city folks." Ben shook his head.

 _So, it's that risky?_ Ford tried to keep the fear from his voice."I'm sure I've handled far worse."

"If you say so." Ben looked unconvinced.

Ford sighed as he looked out across the bar. It was now dark outside, and the city outside still seemed as inhospitable as ever.

"Ben, I have one more favor to ask: do you know of a place where one could spend the night? I don't have any cash on me, but..."

Ben raised his bushy eyebrows. "You don't have a place to stay?"

"Well... no."

Ben breathed out slowly. "Well, Typher seemed to like you, and you look like a decent guy..." He deliberated silently, then came to a decision. "I guess I could give you a place to crash, just for a little while."

Ford nodded, touched. A dingy bar on a seedy planet was the last place he'd expected to receive a gesture of kindness. "I'd like that. Thank you."

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

Ben's transport shuddered as it lowered onto a thin landing strip.

"Here we are," Ben said. "Welcome to my humble abode."

The windshield of the vehicle lifted up and away, allowing them to step out. Ford coughed when he inhaled the smoggy air. Ben didn't seem to notice any smell—or if he did, he had long since stopped caring about it.

He led the way to the nearest door on the tower section. They were closer to the bottom of the tower; if Ford strained his neck, he could see that the tower sections stacked on top of one another until they became shinier and cleaner at the top. Down below, there seemed to be less light. Far below at the very bottom, Ford could make out the ground; it was covered in layer upon layer of grime and garbage. The sea of filth gave off a noxious scent with a strong gust of wind, making Ford's eyes water.

Ben turned the knob and went inside; his door had a sign hanging on it that said _no solicitors, beggars, mutated space rats, felons, or synth peddlers._

Inside was a cramped living space. The smell of chicken noodle soup hung in the air—a pleasant change to the fumes outside.

Decorations covered the little interior. One wall was covered with photographs taped to the wall, and almost all of them featured places on Earth. They looked as though they were taken with a polaroid camera, and Typher was in almost all of them; he was posed in front of a range of mountains, a diner, and a beat-up car. In the one with the car, he was wearing sunglasses, and his arms were folded as he leaned against the hood. Beside that, there was also a classic painting of a poppy field hanging right next to a poster of David Bowie.

On a dresser, there was a photograph of a younger Ben with brown hair and a man that Ford didn't recognize, but he noticed that the man looked somewhat like Typher but with darker hair. The man was also in a picture of a younger Typher at an ice cream shop. Little figurines and bobbleheads sat on the dresser, as well as odder knick knacks, like a jar of quarters, dried flowers, and a Hawaiian tiki. All of the items seemed like average things you would find on Earth, and seeing them here surprised Ford. His surprise was accompanied by a faint ache of homesickness as he lingered on a picture of a beach.

There was a couch pushed over to one side under a window and white drapes. The window illuminated a woman with ragged black hair and a dirty floral dress lying on the couch. Her body was twisted away from them to face the couch cushions. Canisters were clustered on the table beside her and littered on the floor.

Ben approached the woman on the couch. She groaned and shifted. Ben placed a gentle hand on her arm. She pulled away. "Vanessa, I need you to wake up. We have a guest."

"What? Guest? Who?" Vanessa's voice was muffled. When she turned to face Ford, he discovered why. A mask covered her face; it looked a bit like a gas mask, but it was missing filters, and there was a canister attached to the front that was labeled _synthetic happiness_. The lenses glittered like giant, black eyes. The vent over Vanessa's mouth wheezed with every exhale.

"This is Stanford Pines. He's going to be staying with us for a bit." Ben spoke slowly, as though he were talking to a child. "Here, let's get that mask off." Ben reached for the straps of the mask, but Vanessa clamped her hands down on it.

"No, don't," came her feeble voice. "It stinks out there."

Typher appeared in the entryway that led to a tiny kitchen. He had a bowl of soup in each hand and an apron that said _hot stuff coming through._ He stiffened when he saw Ford. "Oh. Hello again." His look of surprise faded into a scowl. "Have you come to say hello to Darth Vader?"

Typher pushed some of Vanessa's canisters to the floor and placed a bowl of soup on the table. "Bon appetit. By the way, I'm not going to feed you soup through your vent, so you're gonna have to take off your damn mask."

Vanessa took off her mask with thin, shaking arms. Her skin was a sickly pale color. There were bags under her dark eyes and indent lines where the mask had been sitting. There were traces of past beauty in her tapered nose and wide lips, but a sense of decay clung to her, as if she were already a corpse.

She scooted closer to the soup and picked up the spoon, scooping up the broth, then curled her lip and wrinkled her nose. She stared flatly at Typher, as though he had slighted her by giving her food.

Typher's jaw clenched, but his expression wasn't angry. He avoided looking at Vanessa. Ben sighed.

"Here," Typher said, coming over to Ford and shoving the other bowl of soup in his hands. He went back to the kitchen without another word.

Ford took the bowl, the steam fogging his glasses. He stirred around the mushy carrots in the broth, trying to be discreet as he looked at Typher's mother.

He didn't know what to say, so he swallowed a spoonful of the hot broth. The soup flowed down his throat, warming him from the inside. It wasn't nearly as bad as Vanessa made it out to be.

Ford spoke quietly to Ben. "So... how long has she been like that?"

"Ever since Typher's father died," Ben said. "She's used to clean, safe Republic cities-not this filthy place."

Typher returned with two more bowls. As soon as he handed a bowl to Ben, Typher took a bite of his soup, his eyes dull and his face blank.

"So, we meet again," Typher said to Ford. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Ben has a big heart." He swirled his soup, not looking at Ford. "I'm sorry about... y'know." He tilted his head in his mother's direction. "She's pretty stubborn about keeping the couch. You can sleep on the _Maverick_ with me. This place is too tiny for all of us."

"It's no problem," Ford said.

"It won't be for long," Ben said. "He's going to compete in Homage. Either way, he won't be needing us anymore."

Typher choked on his soup. "What? _Homage_? Ford, how did you get into so much trouble in a matter of hours?"

"I made a deal with Yaven," Ford said. "Maybe you know him? He has something I need. I agreed to take part in Homage in exchange."

"Oh... you signed up with _Yaven_? Well... that changes things. Yaven's the biggest Homage cheat I've ever seen. _Everyone_ wants to be on his team. I'm... surprised he had an opening, especially this late. But I guess team members retire every now and then." Typher studied his soup, as though trying to find an answer to the mystery in his broth. He scratched his jaw. "That's some incredible good luck. Do you think he could take one more?"

"That's how he made it sound, yes."

"Typher," Ben said, "you're not thinking of—"

"—competing?" Typher finished. "Ben, think about it. _Yaven_ has open slots. He's a etoniom-bucket, and I wouldn't trust him with my house keys, but he always manages to get his team through. Do you know what kind of money we could be swimming in if I participated? It would be easy!"

Ben pursed his lips, but said nothing.

"There's a team meeting tomorrow," Ford said. "If you want to join, you can come with me. Maybe we can persuade him."

Typher grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

Ben spoke up. "What about your mom—"

"—She'll be fine," Typher snapped. "I'm doing this for her. For us, Ben. Maybe with this money, we can get her some decent therapy. We could even get her off this planet."

Ben sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Vanessa was eating her soup, not listening to the conversation.

"Look, Ben, I know you're worried," Typher said. "In any other circumstance, you'd have reason to be. But trust me when I say this: there's no way Yaven would invest in complete strangers unless he knew victory was certain. You've got nothing to worry about."

Ben lowered his hand, his eyes soft. "All right, Typh. All right. But be careful, okay?"

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

The _Maverick_ landed on a strip high above the other towers. A ritzy mansion cast a shadow over them, blocking the evening sun.

Typher pressed a few buttons above his head and flipped a switch. There was an electric humming noise, signaling that the walkway had lowered. He paused, as though second-guessing whether or not he really wanted to go in.

"Everything okay?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's just... I hope this works out," Typher said. "I really want to leave here, but my mom can't go anywhere while she's still in debt. The synth dealers would track her down and... well, it wouldn't be pretty." Typher kept his eyes locked straight ahead.

They were silent for a moment.

Ford's lips parted. He wanted to console Typher, but he felt inadequate. Comforting people had never been his strength.

Instead, Ford opted for moving the conversation into easier waters. "If you could leave, where would you go?"

"Earth." There was no hesitation in Typher's voice. "But not the Republic home planet type of Earth. No... I'm done with them. I grew up there, but I never really belonged, y'know? It was too shiny, too perfect."

Ford nodded. He glanced down at his six-fingered hands. _I know a thing or two about not belonging._

Typher laced his hands behind his head. "Now, the type of Earth you come from... _that's_ probably where I'd go. Don't get me wrong, places like your parallel Earth are home to some pretty shitty things, but I like how it's messy and _real._ It's liberating. I could forget about the Republic and the last ten years of my life there. And my mom, well, there wouldn't be any synth to give her trouble." Typher stopped talking, looking suddenly uncomfortable with how much he said. "Eh, we're wasting time. Let's go say hi."

As they left the cockpit and came down the walkway, Ford mulled over what Typher said. Typher kept his distance from Ford and acknowledged him from the corner of his eye. Ford couldn't help but feel that there was a barrier between them. He didn't push it. Ford understood the need for distance; after his encounter with Bill, Ford's trust barriers now had barriers.

When they exited the ship, Ford shielded his eyes from the harsh sun and looked out over the city. They were near the top, where all of the larger and shinier buildings made their home. The towers glimmered in the light, hiding the sick underbelly with all their walkways, obese apartments, and deluxe space ships that sat outside like trophies.

Their shipwas one of four gathered on the strip. There was a ship that was three times the size of the _Maverick_ with the words _Death Threat_ printed in silver on its black surface, as well as a magenta ship with a pointy nose, hot rod flames, and pink fuzzy dice hanging in the dash. A smooth and plain white ship sat farthest from them.

They walked past rows of titanium statues, all of them carvings of Yaven's bulbous body in different dynamic poses, and came to a set of enormous double doors. Typher pressed a button in the center, which activated a doorbell. The door opened soon after, revealing a short, bronze robot with a bow tie painted on its front. Its circular camera eyes regarded them, zooming in and out.

"Mr. Pines and guest," it said, "please, come this way." The robot turned and walked down the hallway with stiff steps, its feet clacking against the checkered tile.

Ford stepped into the cool hallway with Typher right behind him. Exotic plants that looked as though they were pulled straight from the rainforest lined the hallway. Ford wiped his boots on the red welcome carpet. Scrawled on it were the words _mansion, sweet mansion._

As Ford trailed the robot, he noticed that paintings lined the walls, framed between the elaborate trees; some of them depicted alien landscapes with gas giants on the horizon, and others were portraits of Yaven. Actually, most of them were portraits of Yaven. The portraits were styled after renaissance oil paintings back on Earth, and the only difference was that the subject of these paintings was a fat, purple alien in a tracksuit. Ford averted his eyes when he passed a painting of Yaven lying on a bed, surrounded by gold and draped in a scanty sheet.

The robot turned a corner, leading them to a larger room. A bar sat in the corner with a silver robot as the bartender. It poured one of the occupants—a pink alien in black clothes—something orange and fizzy. The alien swiveled to watch them come in. Her face was lizard-like, and she had two pairs of arms. The top pair had fleshy wings attached, while the other pair was free to grab the drink on the counter. Her yellow eyes followed them as she lapped up the drink with a long tongue.

The center of the room was occupied by a circular black couch. Three others sat on the couch-a tall alien with curled horns, an alien wearing tattered rags with a blank, silver mask covering his face, and a short, golden robot. Typher waved at them and smiled.

When the tall alien saw them, he stood up, smoothed his periwinkle poncho, then folded his arms behind his back, his face stern. "So, one of you must be Stanford Pines," he said in a deep voice.

"I am," Ford said. "This is Typher."

"I'm looking to join your team," Typher said. "Is there still an opening?"

"While not completely necessary, there is an open spot for a seventh member. What role would you fill?"

"I can be a warrior," Typher said. "I'm not half bad at fighting."

"If you take it up with Yaven, I'm sure he'll accept you onto the team. I'm Kashek, team strategist. The one wearing the black rags is Mask. He's a warrior." At this, Mask grunted. Kashek gestured toward the robot. "That's GC-86, or just G for short. They're our medic." G said nothing as they stared at their clasped hands.

"And I'm Naero, the team acrobat," the pink alien said as she approached. "So, what are you two?"

Typher spoke up. "I'm a warrior, and Ford's an innovator."

The lights dimmed.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Yaven's disembodied voice boomed, filling the room. "I'm glad to see you've made yourselves at home—"

"—Hey guys, sorry I'm late!" Another alien rushed in—the same species as Naero, pterodactyl wings and all. His color scheme was more blue and green, contrasting with Naero's pink and magenta. He held a briefcase in his extra arms. "What did I miss?"

"Was showing up on time really too much to manage?" Kashek said.

"Sorry, I—"

"Kashek, lay off my brother," Naero said. "Witka, come sit. You haven't missed a thing."

Witka joined his sister on the circular couch. Ford and Typher took a seat as well. Ford happened to be sitting right beside Witka; he watched out of the corner of his eye as Witka opened up the briefcase, revealing a personal computer. The sight reminded him of Fiddleford, and he felt a distant, nostalgic pang in his gut. _Maybe they're not as useless as I thought._

"Anyway, as I was saying," Yaven said, miffed, "Welcome to my home. Now, I'm sure you've all introduced yourselves, so let's not waste any time." Yaven walked through a hidden doorway into the room. As he did so, a section of the wall in front of them lit up, revealing a screen. Yaven did a double-take, seeing Typher among the team. "Hang on, who are you?"

"I'm Typher Ayden. I heard you had an opening."

"He wants to be an extra warrior," Kashek said. "We _do_ have an open slot with Lio gone."

Kashek and Yaven shared a long look. Yaven let out a breath through his teeth. "Fine, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Welcome to the team, Mr. Ayden."

Yaven tapped the vacant white screen and a ring of seven circles appeared, each with their own label— _strategist, warrior, acrobat, medic, innovator,_ and _architect_. "A friend of mine was generous enough to give me the layouts of each potential level," Yaven said. "While it's impossible to know which floors you'll get, I can guarantee that some of the level designers will be on your side, so you should reach the top quickly. I've been tipped off that there will be a shortcut, which means Witka will be the one finding it."

Witka nodded, flustered.

Ford nudged Typher and whispered. "I still don't know the rules to this game. Care to explain?"

"Teams of seven go into a tower, all of them competing against each other," Typher whispered. "The first one to reach the thirteenth floor is the winner, while the losers are executed. That's why they call it Homage. Everyone who loses is publicly sacrificed to the 'gods of luck.' Except here, no one even cares about the gods of luck. It's just an excuse for brutal entertainment." His eyebrows lowered. "All they worship is a good show."

"What are the floors like?"

"Each room has a challenge you need to face before the elevator unlocks to take you up. There's more to it, but it gets pretty complicated, and frankly, I don't pay attention to most of it. That's the architect's job-they know the game inside and out." He gestured to Witka. "All we have to do is focus on our individual jobs and survive. Leave the gambling to him."

Ford folded his arms and shook his head. "Stanley, wherever you are, I hope you're having a better time."

"Who's Stanley?"

Ford paused. He didn't realize he was speaking loud enough for Typher to hear. "Oh, he's-um, my twin brother."

"Oh. So is he back in your home dimension, then?"

The image of Stanley disappearing into the rift was still burned into his mind. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

Ford sighed. He would've preferred to keep his burdens a secret, but Typher's question was direct, and at this point, Ford probably knew more about Typher than Typher did Ford. It was only fair.

"Remember how I said that I came here by accident? The reason that accident happened... it happened because I had a fight with my brother over my research." He was surprised by the amount of guilt he felt as he spoke. In hindsight, Ford could imagine hundreds of scenarios where the fight might have been avoided. Perhaps parallel versions of him _had_ avoided a conflict. "We both fell through the interdimensional portal I created and got separated in the Nightmare Realm. I know he's alive, but I have very little idea where he is."

"So... are you going to look for him?"

"Eventually. I only saw a picture of where he was, and looking for him would take time I don't have. The safety of the multiverse and my home comes first. One person, brother or no, will have to wait. I can't be selfish when it's my fault that so many people are in jeopardy." It was as though he was trying to convince himself more than Typher that what he was doing was right. He felt worry prick at him. What if something happened to Stanley before he could defeat Bill? And if he were to die in Homage, would Stanley wander the multiverse forever, wondering what had become of Ford?

 _No, I can't think like that. I'll rescue him as soon as Bill is gone_ — _I promise._

"Hm. That's a hard choice." Typher's face was thoughtful. "Logical, I guess... but I don't know if I could make the same decision. I'd rather be with the people I care about for just one more day and watch the multiverse burn than run the risk of living life without them."

Ford turned to Typher, incredulous. "But how could you do that? How could you let _your_ mistakes destroy _everything_ , knowing full well you could've stopped it?"

Typher shrugged. "Maybe I'm not as selfless as you are. Or responsible. Like I said, that's just what I'd do."

Ford breathed out sharply. _Well, you're not me._

The presentation on the wall flickered, running through a list of poisons and how to recognize them. A skull and crossbones on a red backdrop glared at them with each entry, filling the room with crimson light.

* * *

Odyd lv kls, dqg ehdxwb lv sdlq.


	13. Didn't Make Sense Not to Live for Fun

A muffled voice could be heard through the thick metal walls of the dropship. It was a man speaking with a microphone, but over the roars of the gathered crowd, Ford couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Are you ready for this?" Ford asked Typher.

Typher folded his arms. "Are you?"

He wasn't sure, so instead of responding, he unbuckled his seat restraint and came to stand with the others at the exit. Typher stood beside him, his arms folded as he looked at the door, pensive.

With a hiss and a mechanical whirring, the door unlatched and lowered, revealing brightness and chaos.

Cameras flashed, creating spots in Ford's vision. Bodies, alien and human alike, filled the streets. The crowd was sectioned off on either side and went as far as the eye could see, flooding the feet of the skyscrapers.

Ahead of them, the Homage tower stood like a king watching over its subjects. Its reflective windows reached into the clouds and glowed with ominous magenta light. A long red carpet gave them a path to the entrance.

Electric billboards flashed; some of them showed Homage survival predictions, while others were trained on Ford's team as they walked the carpet.

"And there they go! Yaven's team is looking great considering how many players he lost to retirement. I know we'll all be interested to see how these new recruits fare."

 _It's like they're the Romans, and we're the gladiators_ , Ford thought. _And the tower is their Colosseum._

Ford kept his focus on the tower rather than the crowd. Most of the others did what Ford did, ignoring the crowd as best they could as they walked. The only one to pay them attention was Kashek; when a small alien with antlers asked for his autograph, Kashek complied, swiping his finger across a digital tablet.

If Ford listened closely, he could pick out voices shouting Kashek, Naero, and Witka's names.

 _They've probably been doing this for a while,_ Ford thought. _Yaven had to get his money from somewhere in the beginning._

Witka, who was walking beside Ford, rubbed his arm and flicked his tail, looking agitated. Witka seemed timid and introverted compared to his sister, and Ford could only imagine how the crowd's attention bothered him.

Partly to distract Witka from his surroundings and partly to satisfy his curiosity, Ford leaned toward Witka and voiced a question. "Witka, how many times have you done this?"

Witka started and his head snapped to Ford. "Oh, um, how many? I guess... seven."

" _Seven_?" Ford had guessed three or so.

"Yeah, Naero, Kashek and I were all there in the beginning, back when Yaven didn't have a fortune. We were part of the first team that got lucky. When Yaven got his fortune, he took his place on the higher tier, and the rest of us have been supplying his fortune ever since."

"Hold on, you didn't get any of the money?"

"No, it doesn't work like that for us." Witka sighed. "Kashek, my sister and I... we're purchased players."

"So... Yaven _bought_ you? You're his slave?"

"More like indentured servant. When my parents couldn't pay back a synth dealer, he took me and my sister as buyable Homage players. We were pretty young." He glanced at Naero trailing behind them. "They trained us to play Homage for years until they sold us to Yaven."

"Witka, I... I'm sorry." Ford went to give Witka a pat on the shoulder, then thought better of it and lowered his hand.

"It's okay." Witka smiled. "We're two Tantiga years away from being free, and Yaven is getting sick of Homage. He already has more money than he knows how to spend. This might even be our last run."

"Oh... Well, I'm happy to hear that."

Witka stopped swishing his tail and held his head high as he walked, his mood now lifted. Ford wasn't an expert on telling an alien's age, but Witka seemed young and full of life. As Ford walked beside Witka, he silently came to a decision. _I'll do my best to help you and your sister make it to the end, Witka. I promise._

When they came to the double-doored tower entrance, Kashek walked through first. The team followed in his wake, entering the cooler room.

Six other teams were gathered there, each in front of a set of elevator doors. Ford's team took the one of the far left. The other teams either ignored them, grinned at them, or bared their teeth. Some of the other contestants were nervous and joked with their comrades to keep their fear a secret. Others were more like Ford, keeping a calm, quiet air.

 _So, these are the teams we're competing against._ Ford's eyes skimmed the faces of the other players. The team closest to them consisted of anthropomorphic animals. One of them wore a mask with a human's face. A small alien that looked like a tabby cat grinned at Ford.

He turned away and shook his head, remembering the brutal rules of Homage. If Ford did make it to the top, these forty-two aliens would be sacrificed. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. How many were in Witka's situation, forced to play Homage because of debts? _Don't think about it._ _I have to win, not just for my sake, but the sake of the multiverse. And Stanley._ He took a deep, pained breath and closed his eyes.

"Homage will begin in _thirty seconds_ ," said an automated female voice. It was overly pleasant, dripping with sugary sweetness. It set Ford's teeth on edge. " _Contestants_ will now board the _elevators_." The elevator doors opened, revealing a brightly lit interior.

The teams piled into their elevators. As the last one in, Ford crammed himself beside Typher and Naero. Naero growled at him when he stepped on her tail.

"Sorry," Ford said. Naero huffed and ignored him.

The elevator doors closed, and they were given a short ride one level up. The doors opened with an innocent ping, as though the elevator was taking them to a floor of a hotel rather than a lethal game.

"Begin," the voice said.

Everyone piled into the room. Kashek, Naero, and Mask were immediately on guard, analyzing their surroundings for any kind of threat. Ford, and the others hung back, following behind them.

The room had smooth, white walls with a gray door on the left and right. The one on the left had a red star symbol on it, while the other was blank.

"There appear to be no immediate threats here," Kashek said, his eyes scanning the area to be sure.

"The door on the left is an item room," Witka said. "The other will most likely be a challenge room."

"At least we have something to work with," Kashek said. "Typher, secure the item."

"Oh. Okay." Typher went inside the item room, then returned with a gun that was about the size of an AK-47.

"A weapon?" Kashek said. "Be prepared for a fight in this next room."

"Shouldn't I hold the weapon?" Mask asked. "I think I've proven to be a capable warrior—at least, one that can outmatch a human."

Kashek considered Mask's proposal, then nodded. "Fine. Take it."

The hulking black figure snatched the gun away from Typher. Typher's frown was reflected in Mask's blank silver face. He didn't seem intimidated, despite the fact that Mask was twice his size. Not only was he bigger, but he was perpetually hunched over, with long arms and even longer legs. His stance was animal-like, and it reminded Ford faintly of a werewolf. It was unnerving to watch him walk, and to see him towering over Typher filled Ford with unease.

Mask opened the next door and entered first, his gun raised. The rest of them followed into the new room. Across from them, the exit elevator sat, closed and waiting. It didn't open when Mask approached.

This room was plain like the last, except in the middle of the floor, there was a black rectangle. Ford knelt to get a closer look and found that it was a digital screen. The screen had small sections in it, as though it was a row for a crossword puzzle.

"I found something," Ford said. When he spoke, a row of keyboard characters appeared beneath the place where a word would sit, like a digital keyboard. They were all letters from the English alphabet.

"What is that?" Typher asked, leaning over Ford. The characters shifted momentarily, some of the letters changing.

Ford glanced at Typher. "Typher, what language are you speaking?"

"What does that have to do with anything? Primus Vox, the standard Republic language. What are you speaking?"

"English."

As they spoke, the keyboard flipped back and forth between the two languages.

"Stanford, what did you find?" Kashek asked. The keyboard doubled in size, and the row of letters lengthened as well.

"It looks like some sort of password keypad," Ford said. "I think it wants us to input an answer to open the elevator. Whatever it is, it's nineteen characters long in English."

The door behind them shut. Naero, who was closest to the door, smacked it with her tail, but it didn't give. Holes opened up in the ceiling. Every member of the team looked up as water gushed out, soaking them. Within seconds, they were already up to their knees in water.

"Everyone, think of a password that would fit," Kashek said, his voice sharp.

"But we don't have any clues!" Witka said.

Kashek was tall enough to raise his head above the water, but Ford and most of the others were already treading it. G, however, was standing at the bottom, his robotic body unfazed by the lack of oxygen.

"G, put something in!" Naero said, gasping. The water climbed for the ceiling.

The golden robot came to the keypad and typed. The screen turned red, signaling that the answer was incorrect.

"Can it be more than one word?" Typher said.

"Do you have something in mind?" Kashek replied.

"Try _I don't want to die_ with an exclamation point."

"Typher, this is serious!"

"So am I!"

Ford's hair brushed the ceiling. G's form flickered like a coin at the bottom of a swimming pool as he input answers. It stayed red no matter how many entries G put into it.

 _Come on, focus! What can it be? Was there some sort of hidden clue?_ Ford closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing under control. The sound of the room filling up faded to the back of his a precious minute, all he felt were his arms and legs cutting through the water. He opened his eyes.

He took a deep breath as the water touched the ceiling. Ford faced the bottom of the room and swam down, pushing off the ceiling and letting out some of his air to sink more easily. His lungs were burning by the time he got to the keypad. G watched him with ghostly, glowing eyes as Ford typed.

When he was done, the words _dihydrogen monoxide_ looked up at him. The screen turned green. There was a sucking sound, and the water lowered. Ford swam back up to the top and gasped for air.

The water drained completely, and Typher stumbled, wiping his face. His usually spiky hair was flat to his head. "Ford, what was it? What did you put in?" he asked.

"Dihydrogen monoxide."

"Di... oh. Of course. H2O. Water. Damn." Typher shook his head and tied his soaked leather jacket around his waist. Now wearing only a ratty t-shirt, his universal translator was visible around his wrist. "That would've been ironic. We were swimming in the answer."

The water dissipated, disappearing into invisible drains and leaving the floor shiny and wet. Ford's trench coat felt heavy on his frame, and his hair hung in his eyes. He tried to wipe his glasses, but it didn't do any good; he only managed to leave wet streaks across his vision. He gave up and breathed in, expanding his lungs to their fullest in a deep, satisfying breath. He felt like a drowned cat, but he was alive.

The other team members were just as wet; Naero rung out the bottom of her black shirt, and Mask shook himself off like a dog.

"Not bad," Naero said, giving Ford a genuine smile. Ford gave her an unsure smile back.

"Yes, yes, very good," Kashek said, "but that was only the first floor. Stay on your guard."

"Lighten up, Goatface," Typher said. "Celebrate your victories."

Kashek glared at him. Typher pretended not to notice and stepped into the elevator.

Everyone stepped inside again, too close for comfort. The door closed, and machine parts whirred as the elevator rose.

The doors opened again, but this time it was to blackness. On the other end of the room there was another elevator, and it was lit by a ring of lights around it.

"That's quite the drop," Witka said, looking down.

A deep abyss sat between them and the elevator. Typher swallowed and backed away from the edge of the elevator.

"Witka and I can fly across," Naero said.

"Can you carry everyone?" Kashek asked.

"If we go one at a time, it should work."

"All right," Kashek said. "Typher, Stanford, you go first."

"Okay..." Ford said. Witka lowered for Ford to get on his back. With a bit of hesitation, Ford climbed on and gripped Witka's wing shoulders tightly. Typher got on Naero's back and did likewise.

Together, Witka and Naero flapped their pterodactyl wings and lifted themselves off the elevator floor. Ford was surprised by the amount of power Witka's wings had; it hoisted his weight without an issue. He hoped he wasn't hurting Witka with how tightly he was gripping his shoulders, but Witka's back was thin and noodley, and it would be easy to slip off if he didn't.

Naero went ahead of Witka, diving out like a pink blur. Witka was less agile, but he flapped along at a decent pace. When they got about halfway through the room, a wall of light and heat cut them off, stopping Naero in her tracks. She flapped backwards, nearly running headlong into the barrier of fire. Ford could feel the heat on his face even though he was farther away. The fire receded, then after a few moments it started up again, following a pattern of stopping and starting.

Naero bared her teeth and darted through when the fire wall died. She was obscured by the fire when Ford and Witka came close.

"There's not much of a pause," Witka said, his voice trembling.

Ford studied the fire, counting under his breath how long the pause was while Witka stayed, deliberating.

"Witka, don't worry," Naero said. "You can do this. You've done worse."

"No I haven't!"

"Witka, I've been watching the intervals," Ford said. "If you start at this point and go as soon as the pause begins, you only need to go three meters per second to make it through. It looks intimidating, but don't let it fool you."

"I... but what if I mess it up?" Witka asked. "I'm not as fast as Naero."

"You'll be fast enough." Ford said. "I'll tell you when to go. Just don't stop for anything."

"Okay... okay, yeah. I think I can do that."

Ford watched the fire wall blaze, then disappear, then flare up again. "Now!"

Witka darted forward. The firewall cleared just as they went to pass through, then started up again.

Naero was beating her wings on the other side, waiting with anxious eyes. When she saw Witka pass through, she came forward and gave him a pat on his head with one of her extra arms.

"See, you can do this," she said. Naero looked up at Ford. "Thanks."

Ford nodded.

There were bright purple lasers up ahead that blocked the way. The beams of light crisscrossed and made intricate patterns, shifting position with constant movement.

"Oh no," Ford said.

"Uh, just wait here," Naero said. "I might be able to see an easy way through if I'm on the other side."

Naero twisted through the air, making graceful arcs with her back, as though she were swimming through the air. Typher kept his arms around her neck and watched the lasers, preparing to duck in case she got too close. She got to the other side without much trouble and came to a ledge before the elevator, allowing Typher to slide from her back. Naero turned to face Witka and Ford with a tight, concerned face.

"I can't do that," Witka said. His tail drooped. "How am I supposed to navigate this?"

Ford watched the lights. There seemed to be a predictable pattern to the lasers. Every fifth pattern, a gap would appear in the chaotic web near the ceiling. The gap at its widest was just big enough for one of them to slip through, and it only lasted for a couple of seconds.

Ford spoke quietly next to Witka's head. "Don't worry, Witka. Naero did things the hard way. This one will be simple too. Just aim for that gap," Ford pointed, "and make sure you fly as fast as you can, all right?"

Witka nodded. His body was quivering. "Okay, I see the gap. I trust you."

Ford watched the lasers. "Are you ready?" Witka nodded again. "Okay, we'll go on the count of three. One... two... three!"

Witka lunged forward. At first, it looked as though they would fly straight into the thick wall of lasers. A gap opened just in time, allowing them to skim through.

Ford straightened. "We did it—"

He felt heat across his back, then heard a sizzle. He yelped, surprising Witka. Witka turned over in the air and cried out; if Ford hadn't gripped Witka's shoulders, he would've plunged into the dark abyss.

Now spooked, Witka dropped to the ledge and used his claws to clamber up, nearly bucking Ford off. Ford jumped off of Witka, but he didn't land correctly and tumbled. Typher's arm was a blur as he caught Ford's arm, keeping him from falling off the edge.

Ford stood and straightened his damp trench coat, glancing at the dark pit. "Uh, thanks."

"Yeah," Typher said. He cleared his throat. "That could've been bad. Glad you made it."

Naero put a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Witka, you stay here. I'll get everyone else."

"Got it," Witka said.

Naero took off, flying through the lasers and passing the fire with ease. She flew back and forth, dropping off the team members one by one. When she came back with G, they entered the elevator.

"Nice teamwork, everyone." Kashek said. Naero nodded, and Witka perked up at the praise. Kashek's stoic face cracked slightly for a smile.

The elevator shuddered when it hit the next floor. The door opened with its usual _ping,_ revealing a blank hallway floored with white tile. At the opposite end was a door. Kashek led the way down the hall. The rest of the team stayed close behind, except for Witka. Witka stayed behind and knelt on the ground.

"One these floor tiles is discolored," Witka said, touching the tile. "Look at it. It's gray while everything else is pure white."

"Maybe it's just dirty," Mask said.

"No, the designers tailor our levels specifically for us. Each is a fresh creation that plays on our strengths and weaknesses. This should be brand-new and immaculate." Witka felt around the tile, then lifted the edge and pulled it up, revealing a red button. Witka pressed the button, and a section of the wall receded in, moving aside and revealing a dark entrance to another room. "A secret room," Witka breathed. "I found it."

When they entered, an automated voice filled the room. "Congratulations. You have found a secret room. Behind this door is a shortcut to floor eight."

"All _right_ ," Typher said, clenching a fist.

"Yaven came through," Kashek said.

"But be warned," the voice said, "to go through the door, two of you must ingest gaseous hallucinogens."

The team members looked at each other with unsure faces.

 _Gaseous hallucinogens... or just synth to the abusers_ , Ford thought.

"There's no question that we should do it," Witka said. "We'd be way ahead of the other teams."

"But who would we pick for the synth?" Kashek said, holding his chin.

"Maybe we should leave it to a vote," G's quiet voice piped up. The group members eyed each other. "I can't ingest synth, so I'm out of the running."

"It shouldn't be me—as the leader, I need to keep a clear head," Kashek said.

"We haven't had a fight yet," Mask said. "I bet one is coming up. As the better warrior, I shouldn't be impaired."

Typher rolled his eyes at Mask's statement and raised his hand reluctantly. "I guess I haven't been useful yet. I volunteer."

"I volunteer as well," Witka said. "I'm only good at knowing Homage tricks and level design. In an actual situation, I'm not that useful."

Kashek nodded. "All right, if everyone is in agreement, I think we have our candidates."

A section of the floor opened up, and out rose a pedestal with a pair of masks and canisters on top.

Typher grabbed one of the masks and attached a canister to the hole on the mouth, then strapped it to his head. The black eyes of the mask glittered at Ford in the low light. Typher and Witka breathed in and out mechanically for a few minutes, saying nothing.

"That should be long enough," Kashek said.

Typher removed his mask and dropped it on the floor. His eyes were unfocused, and he made a sour face at Kashek.

Witka grabbed his head. "I feel... really _weird._ " He looked around the room as though he'd never seen it before. "Whoa. This room is _big_."

The door on the far wall opened, letting in light.

"Let's move out," Kashek said, marching forward.

Typher watched them pass, confused.

Ford stopped and put a hand on Typher's back. "Typher, let's go."

Typher placed a hand on Ford's shoulder. "Ford. Hey, Ford. Ford, just chill, a'ight?" A wide, vacant grin spread across Typher's face. "Just chill, amigo. _Relax._ It's all gonna be okay. Just take it easy, friend. I know we're playing _Homage_ , but I just... I've got this feeling in my heart... that we're all gonna be fine." Something caught his attention. His eyes followed nothing; it looked as though he were watching an invisible butterfly float away.

"Splendid," Kashek said. "I think we picked the perfect candidates to annoy us to death."

The team exited the darker room. Ford kept his hand on Typher's shoulder, herding him out as he tried to grab the air. Naero pushed Witka forward as he gaped at his surroundings.

The level had dark, reflective walls and ceiling lights that lined a corridor. The hall turned a corner, leading somewhere out of sight. There was a doorway on the left wall with a red star on it—an item room. Mask entered, then came out of it holding a bracelet. He put it on his wrist and pressed a button, activating a glowing, purple domed force-field that was big enough to shield most of his body.

" _Nice,_ " Witka said. He went to grab the force-field, but Naero pulled him back.

"I think we may be facing our first foes," Kashek said.

"Whatever it is, I'll kick its ass!" Typher yelled, his voice echoing. He punched the air.

"Naero, you lead the way," Kashek ordered. "Take the shield. Mask, follow her with the gun. The rest of us will stay farther back."

"Hey guys, we've got a button over here!" Typher was crouched, facing a wall and waving them over to a cracker-sized red button sticking out of the wall. He pressed it before anyone could tell him not to.

Multiple voices spoke in unison, echoing in the hall. _"Tick tock, here we have a game. Tick tock, press begin to play. Tick tock, shove this one away. Tick tock, now they're here to stay. Tick tock, if you need a key, Tick tock, the box is where I'll be. Tick tock, you won't like this part. Tick tock, go back to the start. Tick tock, then you'll have to run. Tick tock, then our game is done."_

Above the button, Ford noticed a circular indentation with a slot in it, like a car ignition. He knelt beside the wall and felt the smooth depression.

"Is it a riddle?" Naero asked.

"They sound more like instructions," Ford replied. "If you do everything required, the elevator will open, wherever it is."

"Why does it keep repeating _tick tock_?" Mask said.

A panel slid open on the right wall, revealing a black screen. Digital red numbers came to life—slots for minutes, seconds, and milliseconds divided by red colons. A full thirty minutes slipped into twenty-nine, the milliseconds slipping away quickly. Another panel extended with seven watches set out in a row across it. The watches all had the same red numbers, ticking away in sync.

"Everyone, take a watch," Kashek said. "I think Stanford is right. We need to find the next item in the riddle."

Ford strapped a watch to his wrist. The scarlet numbers winked at him, and the seconds ticked away, _21, 20, 19, 18..._

Naero took the lead down the hall, followed by Mask, who had his gun raised. Kashek, G, Typher, and Witka went after them. Ford brought up the rear. As they came deeper into the hallway, other pathways appeared, branching off like sections of a maze.

Ford saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at it, but when he looked down the splitting hallway, there was nothing there. He shook his head and focused on taking deep breaths to calm his heartbeat, which was steadily rising. With all of the recent excitement, his hands twitched and the skin on the back of his neck prickled.

The pathways twisted, then came to a dead end.

Naero groaned. "Agh! We don't have time for this."

Naero huffed and brushed past Ford. She took a different turn, and at the end of this hallway, there was a lever tucked away in a nook, its handle pointing toward them.

"Hey, that makes sense," Witka said. " _Shove this one away._ I get it."

"Stop talking," Mask said. He walked to the lever and pushed it. The lever locked into place, and a bell rang, echoing through the reflective, black hallways.

Typher gasped. "I'm late for class!"

Kashek ignored Typher. "I don't know what that did, but we should keep going. The next thing we need to find is a key in a box..." There was soft thump down the hall. Kashek grew quiet. "Did you hear that?"

"It came from behind us," G said in a matter-of-fact tone.

A shriek that sounded like nothing Ford had encountered on Earth echoed through the corridors. The team stood still, all of them looking down the hallway with wide eyes.

Ford smelled the creature before he saw it; a fishy scent overwhelmed him. A long, pale snout poked around the corner at the end of the hall, then turned to face them. The huge creature came into full view, crawling like a Komodo dragon but with an extra pair of legs. Its skin was a slimy, sickly white, and its eyes were milky. It opened its barracuda mouth, revealing hundreds of needle teeth, and made a low gurgle.

Mask stepped in front of them and fired his gun, sending a red blast into the creature's head. The creature recoiled and screamed, pawing at the dark spot on the side of its face. A low growl sat in its throat as it flared a neck-frill. It approached them, the dark mark of the plasma fading into nothing.

_Tick tock, now they're here to stay._

* * *

Wuxvw qr rqh.


	14. Taking the Back Streets

_Come on, Amy. Where are you?_

Stanley was at the back of the leading pack, and so far, none of the other cars had made a move toward him. He figured that either they didn't see him as a threat, or they hadn't noticed him yet.

The engine thrummed as Stanley's car headed for the mouth of another strange roadway. The road ahead split into two, then went on to create a tunnel of X pathways. The cars ahead went upside down and back again, some of them meeting on the intersections and exploding in bursts of fire.

Stanley took the left road, his fingers slick on the wheel. He had a couple of close calls when a purple car with silver rims passed right in front of him, nearly hitting him on the X intersections, but the purple car was always a few seconds ahead, zipping past just before Stanley got there.

His jaw hurt with the pressure of his clenched teeth and sweat trickled down his temple. _Forget winning. Just survive. If I can stay at the back of the pack, then maybe they'll be too busy with each other to deal with me._

A racer in front of him bashed straight into the flaming wreckage of another car, bulldozing it with ease. The smashed vehicle was shoved aside and landed directly in Stanley's path. He swerved and missed it by inches.

When he pulled out of the tunnel, one of the racers from the group behind him caught up with the winning pack and stayed on his tail. The car had a pointed tip, and it glimmered with a cherry-red coat. Whenever Stanley made so much as a twitch, the car behind him would follow, its pointed tip aimed at his bumper. He watched the car, ready to make a move.

The pointed car lunged for Stanley's bumper, but he jerked the wheel and dodged its needle nose. The other racer tried to stab his car more than once, and it took most of Stanley's concentration to dodge it. He was too slow to escape one of the lunges, and with a rattle that shook his frame, the racer hit the corner of his car.

"Hey!" Stanley glared at his side mirror. The black windows of the pointed car revealed nothing.

_I gotta get away from this guy, but he's fast._

Stanley was suddenly struck with a memory of another dire situation—something that happened back on Earth. His relationship with law enforcement had always been tenuous at best. Right before he was banned from Colorado, he worked together with a man named Marty to steal from a jewelry store. They had accidentally robbed a clinic instead, and the only thing Stanley got away with was a thermometer. Even still, a car chase ensued when the police arrived. Stanley's red convertible was fast, but that didn't matter in the end. All it took was a well-aimed corner touch to the convertible's bumper, and Stanley had lost control of the car.

_I don't need a power overload. All I need is to do is hit him where it counts._

Stanley slowed down and pulled behind the car. He then matched the back wheels of the pointed car with the front tip of his own. A light touch to the back corner of the other car was just enough to lift the rear wheel, making it spin out of control. Stanley dodged the racer and zoomed by.

"Ha! I can't believe that worked!" He slapped the dashboard and grinned. When he did so, a light that looked like a trident came on next to the speedometer. From the front of his car, the grappling hook shot out, hooking a silver car way out in front of him.

"Whoa!"

Stanley hit the brakes and turned, which pulled the car backwards. He tried a few buttons that were in the area of his slap to try to get it to disengage. He turned on the radio and made bubbles shoot out of the headlights before finding the right button. When the grappling hook retracted, his car straightened, ripping past the befuddled silver car that was still trying to get its bearings.

The radio blared something with a saxophone-heavy chorus. It was either chaotic music that was close to being just noise, or random noise that was on the verge of being music.

Stanley's mouth parted with surprise. He was now in the middle of the leading cars, with Maya's golden car right next to his.

Against all odds, Stanley was now in sixth place.

These cars were of a different breed. All of them, save for Stanley's car and a boxy car in second, were aerodynamic and precise racing instruments.

The car in the lead was black, shiny, and low to the ground. It payed little attention to the oversized, rectangular car in second, which was only keeping up because of the massive jet engines on its rear.

The road seemed to decrease in width and the cars became more closely packed. As space became harder to find, the pushier cars edged their way to the front.

Maya tried to get ahead, but an orange car and yellow car blocked her way. The orange car looked as though it had climbed out of an ocean, with scales and a fleshy exterior, while the yellow car had a see-through exterior, the inner workings of the car visible along with the driver—an alien that bore an uncanny resemblance to a jellybean.

Both cars slowed, getting on either side of her. Energy shields formed on their doors. They rammed Maya with the energy shields, taking turns pushing her back and forth. Maya's tires squealed as she flitted between them, unable to get away.

_They're... messing with her._

His muscles quivered as he watched them push her around. Memories of Crampelter and the other jerks from school flashed through his mind.

A new voice crackled on Stanley's radio, competing with the brassy, bombastic tune. "Would you look at that. A second human in the Revlok Grand Prix." The voice sniggered. "I think it's time we taught you two Republic _shisnos_ as lesson."

The two cars pulled ahead. A compartment above their bumpers opened up, and small, spiky devices leaked out, clinging to the track.

A shield of blue energy formed around the nose of Maya's car, and armored plates formed around her wheels. When Maya's shield touched the mines, they were knocked aside and thrown from the track. Each one exploded in the air with a loud _boom._

Stanley kept to the path that Maya cleared, his arms tensed. He watched the tail of Maya's car and concentrated on keeping directly behind her. If her car so much as twitched, he was quick to adjust.

When they were clear of the mines, one of the aliens came back on Stanley's radio, this time sounding disgruntled.

"Eh, we were just going easy on you. Let's see what you make of—"

Before the alien could finish, Stanley came out from behind Maya and engaged his grappling hook. The alien broke off when the metal teeth clung to the tail fin of his car.

Stanley hit his brakes and turned his wheel, causing the orange car to go off course. Stanley disengaged the grappling hook, and the car spun, blocking Maya's path. Maya didn't slow; instead, she T-boned the other car with her energy shield. The orange car was shoved aside roughly, leaving a huge dent on its side.

Stanley's car and Maya's car came closer together on the thin track.

"Hey, thanks," Maya said on the radio.

"Eh, forget about it," Stanley said. "I hate bullies."

Maya's car catapulted something from its grill. The yellow car swerved and fell off the track, its magnetic wheels failing. The see-through car deployed a parachute, and the alien inside heaved a sigh of relief as it descended into the clouds.

Now in fourth place, Stanley was now hyper-aware of the distance between him and the car in first. There was a considerable gap—enough that he couldn't reach the black car with his grappling hook. If he tried to speed up, there was no doubt that the black car would leave him in the dust. He just couldn't match up with the expensive car.

_Wait, what am I thinking? I'm just trying to survive. Winning... that's impossible._

And yet, he'd somehow gotten to fourth place. His fingers tapped the steering wheel and he licked his lips.

The silver car that Stanley passed earlier appeared in his rearview mirror, its chrome surface glinting in the sunlight. It came up on Stanley's rear and tried to pass him, but he moved in front of it. The car stopped just before it hit its bumper and pulled back, trying to get around him another way. Stanley kept in front of it with minute touches to the wheel and smirked. Maya acted likewise, blocking the track.

In response, the silver car charged the gun on its door and fired. The shot blew off Stanley's side mirror, leaving a glowing stub.

"Oh, so that's how you wanna play it, huh?" He hit a couple of switches that seemed to do nothing. "You're done pal... as soon as I find a way to overload the power thingy. Hold on a second." Stanley pressed a promising green button.

His vision was obscured by an eruption of glitter and confetti inside and outside the car. The sparkly dust covered his windshield and coated the race track around him. Maya pulled away. The half of her car closest to Stanley was covered in a rainbow mess.

A new song played on the radio, blaring so loud that it was a physical weight in Stanley's eardrums. The car rattled with the music, as though the vehicles old parts could barely contain it.

Stanley glanced up at his rearview mirror at the silver car. It was farther behind, its windshield obscured by glitter. Windshield wipers swiped the glitter away.

As he looked behind him, Stanley noticed a yellow trail coming from his car that looked suspiciously like nacho cheese. It mixed with the glitter, leaving a colorful, cheesy, sparkly wake behind him.

Stanley turned on his windshield wipers and knocked some of the sparkly dust away. Now that he could see, he noticed that his car seemed to move faster while in this new party mode. Maya had to speed up to keep with him, and the distance between his car and the two cars in the lead grew shorter.

He recognized the car in second place; it was the same boxy car that was owned by the pig alien that laughed at him.

The pig alien sped up when Stanley approached, its jet engines flaring. Meanwhile, the glossy black car in the lead didn't seem bothered by the racers on its tail; the driver had one focus, and that was winning.

Stanley approached the pig alien's car. He tried to hit the corner of his car, but the boxy car pulled forward before he could land a hit.

With a frustrated grimace, Stanley pressed the grappling hook button.

The grappling hook latched onto the pig's bumper, but when Stanley tried to pull back on the car, the pig slammed on his brakes, putting slack in the line. Stanley barely managed to dodge the pig as he passed. He retracted the grappling hook with a panicked slap of the button, and it returned just before the nose of his car could be yanked sideways.

The pig sped up, coming neck and neck with him. Even with his new speed, Stanley couldn't get ahead of him.

With zero warning, the pig alien slammed into Stanley's door. His wheels shuddered, and he hit his breaks to avoid a second impact.

"Are you all right?" Maya asked. Her car had hung behind him, watching the encounter.

"Ugh." Stanley bit his lip as he surveyed the damage the pig did to the driver's side. The metal was scratched and missing its coat of glitter, but still functional. "I'm okay. He only grazed me." He looked down at his dashboard, heat building within him. The buttons were complicated, but the thrusters were among them, somewhere. He pressed a few new buttons, then flipped an orange switch. He felt the steering wheel lock up, and a jolt of panic ran through him.

With a disorienting spin, Stanley's car rotated so that he was going backwards down the track. Stanley tried to flip the switch again, but the car stayed in its backwards position.

"What are you doing?!" Maya shouted. He was now facing the front of her car.

_Oh shit._

He tried to move the steering wheel, but it wouldn't budge.

"Um... don't worry," Stanley said. "I, uh... I meant to do this."

Something bright caught the reflection in Stanley's rearview mirror. Clouds and haze cleared, revealing a portal at the end of the track. It was only the size of Stanley's thumb at the moment, but it was quickly approaching.

The pig alien's car extended a gun from its top and aimed it at Stanley.

Before it could shoot, Maya fired a plasma blast of her own, destroying one of the pig's tires in smoking mess. The pig alien screamed as its car veered to the side of the road. If Stanley hadn't been so dismayed about driving backwards, he would've enjoyed seeing the frustration on the pig's face as he passed.

Stanley turned his head and watched as he approached the black car. Maya stayed behind Stanley, waiting for the black car to act.

When they came on its tail, the black car finally took notice of them. It slowed and came beside Stanley. It didn't do anything at first; it was probably observing the odd situation and trying to figure out the advantage of driving backwards. After a moment, the black car extended a gun from its roof, aiming it directly at Stanley. Maya kept away, doing nothing as the black car threatened him.

"Hey, Maya, little help?"

There was no response from Maya. Either she didn't hear him, or she didn't care. After all, they technically weren't a team, and if he was gunned down now, she would be one step closer to victory.

_Argh, what do I do? What do I do? One of these has gotta help._

He flipped another switch. A light on his dash turned off, signaling that his magnetic wheels had disengaged. Stanley only had a few seconds to be alarmed. The bottom of his car rumbled, and suddenly the track was far below him. Stanley screamed as his car soared through the air on its boosters. He flipped the switch again and his car fell from the sky.

The black car, not seeing the threat from above, was smashed by the underside of Stanley's car. Stanley smacked his head against his head rest and keeled forward from the shock of the landing. When he looked up, he saw that his car was still moving backwards, but he was tilted up to look at the cloudy sky. His car had landed on the front part of the black car, covering up his opponent's hood and windshield. Its shiny paint job was coated in glitter and nacho cheese.

Stanley's dashboard flickered, and the noise from the radio cut in and out. One of the front wheels had been torn from its wheel well, and the headlights kept turning on and off. In the midst of his confusion and terror, Stanley felt a pang of regret. His glittery, nacho cheese-squirting car was dying.

_And I was just getting used to it._

The black car locked its brakes. Stanley shot from the car's hood, sparks flying as his car scraped the track. His car skidded, then started flipping. Each rotation sent a shock wave through him. Stanley squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as he waited for the harsh impacts to stop.

He anticipated another sickening hit against the track, but it never came. Light appeared behind his eyelids. Stanley opened his eyes and saw whiteness beyond his windshield. He was rotating in the zero gravity.

_I'm in the portal,_ he realized with a start.

Then all at once, gravity returned. Stanley's car was shot out sideways from the portal. His door smacked the ground with a metallic _whack._ The car rolled. An odd foam sprang up from the dashboard and coated him, filling the passenger seat. It plastered Stanley in place. Only a part of his head was left free.

The car wobbled to a stop with the car upside down.

Stanley pulled himself free of the foam and felt around for the door handle. He found it, pulled it, then tumbled out of the battered door. He stumbled on the pavement and brushed the foam from his clothes.

After picking some foam from his ears, Stanley straightened when he heard a sound he didn't recognize—it was like someone getting slapped multiplied by a thousand. Looking up, Stanley noticed a vast crowd. The crowd was a crayon box of colors, and they sat in stands on both sides of the road, cheering and clapping. It took him a moment to realize that the applause was for him.

_They're clapping... for me?_

He didn't know what to think about that. The surge of positive energy, all of it directed at him, was overwhelming.

He turned to the portal he just came through. There was a stream of broken glass, yellow cheese, and iridescent sparkles that led to his broken husk of a car. The mess was streaked across a black and white checkered line—the finish line. Stanley was a good distance past it.

Above the crowds, there were gigantic screens; the image of him standing in the middle of the road, dazed, was being captured by some unknown camera. All focus was on him.

_Y'know, it's funny... I don't think I've ever won anything._ Ford's collection of glittering trophies on the wall were all he could remember. Not once could he name an instance where he came in first instead of Ford. Stanley looked at the ground and rubbed away the moisture that was collecting in his eyes. _I can't believe it. I... I did it._

A floating metal sphere with a glowing band around its middle drifted down to Stanley from the crowd. It stayed head-level as it extended a mechanical arm and presented him with a bracelet. He took the bracelet from the droid and raised an eyebrow.

"Um, thanks?" He inspected the bracelet. It was simple and had the texture of stainless steel. On one side, there were lines cut into the metal. Stanley sniffed the bracelet, then tried biting it.

The black car popped out from the white circle of light and crossed the checkered finish line. As it passed Stanley, a small object was tossed out of the car's back compartment, landing on Stanley's totaled car and sticking to it. The object had a pulsing light that came quicker and quicker, as though it were counting down to something. Stanley realized what it was and ran.

As Stanley sprinted from the portal, his car exploded behind him. He was thrown forward by the blast and fell to the ground. The crowd cried out.

He pushed himself off the pavement and looked up. Ahead of him, the black car was sitting in the middle of the road. Stanley stood up and clenched his fists, staring down the black car.

The car's wheels spun, screeching. The nose of the vehicle pointed straight at Stanley as it picked up speed. He widened his eyes and leaped out of the way. His shoulder hit the pavement hard as he rolled.

He got to his feet again as the car turned around. Stanley held up his middle finger.

As the car lunged for him again, a few other racers materialized from the portal and crossed the finish line, their engines roaring. Stanley slipped the bracelet on his wrist and swallowed.

Maya's golden car was among the small group, and she broke away, heading straight for Stanley. Just as Stanley prepared to dodge out of the way, Maya turned her car and drifted to a stop just a few feet away from where he stood. The passenger door flew open.

"Get in," Maya said. Stanley dived into the car and slammed the door shut.

The car tires squealed, and they took off down the strip of road. Stanley glanced at Maya.

"You're a kid!"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm older than I look. Besides, my age doesn't affect my ability to race." Her profile was rounded, with full lips and a dark complexion, and her black hair was tied into an intricate braid. She kept her focus on the road, making calm and precise movements to avoid the other drivers coming from behind.

The black car sped ahead of them and blocked the only means of escape: a road that led into a tunnel. It revved its engine and drove toward them, making for a collision course. Maya tightened her hands on the wheel, her eyes steely. She pressed harder on the gas pedal, rapidly approaching the black car in a game of chicken.

"What are you doing?" Stanley gripped the edge of his leather seat.

Maya didn't answer. Her lips pressed together.

The cars came closer and closer to impact. Maya kept her hand ready on a lever next to the steering wheel. Just before the two cars collided, Maya pulled the lever.

"Thrusters engaged," said Winston in a robotic tone.

They flew upwards and over the black car. When Maya's car touched ground again, the others were far behind.

The black car was just beginning to turn around when Maya fled into the tunnel. The tunnel was dark, lit by only a strip of lights on the bottom. The rumble of the engine echoed in the confined space. She took a smaller offshoot path, then sighed, relaxing her shoulders and tight grip on the wheel.

"Thanks for saving me." Stanley rubbed the back of his neck. "That could've been bad." He frowned at her. "Hang on, why _did_ you save me?"

"Don't think that I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart," Maya said. "I still intend to get those credits on your wrist. I helped you win, so I deserve a portion of that cash."

Stanley sat up straight. "What? Seriously?"

"Think of it as payback for saving your life."

Stanley sat back in his seat and folded his arms. He had no intention of forking over his hard-earned cash. He wouldn't part with a single cent. If he was ever going to find Ford, he needed all the money he could get.

_How can I ditch her?_

Stanley grew quiet as he thought. Amy had told him beforehand that she could switch her consciousness to different machines, and she demonstrated this by easily switching to Stanley's car. If he could get back, he could see if Amy had managed to switch back to the ship. He didn't want to think about what it would mean if he couldn't find her there.

_If Amy_ is _there, then maybe she can help me out._

"Okay, okay," Stanley said. "You know what? You're right. You do deserve a little reward."

Maya raised an eyebrow.

"I have one condition, though. I need to find a friend first. She's back on my ship, I think. I just need to make sure she's okay. Then you can have your money."

Maya sighed through her teeth. "Fine. Where's your ship?"

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

The orange and white ship was still hidden in the alley where Stanley had left it. It was behind a dumpster, partially out of view from the street. Maya drove into the alley and wrinkled her nose.

"So, this is where you parked your ship?"

He shrugged. "It was free."

Maya parked beside the ship.

Stanley got out of the car. As he did so, his nose was hit with a strong, sour smell, like rancid Chinese food. Several reptilian creatures the size of rats scurried out from underneath the dumpster. A red creature with sharp fangs and matted fur crawled out from underneath the dumpster, chasing them deeper into the alley. Maya watched them as they passed, a queasy look on her face and a hand on her stomach.

He came to the ship and opened the side door, then stepped into the airlock. Maya followed close behind. He entered the main body of the ship and the lights turned on automatically.

"Amy? Are you here?"

"Stanley?"

At the sound of Amy's voice, anxiety unclenched its fingers from around his stomach.

"I'm incredibly sorry," she continued. "The power capacitor overload... the system couldn't handle that kind of abuse, so it rebooted. My consciousness defaulted back here. I... couldn't find you after that." Her volume dropped. "I thought... well, I assumed the worst."

He was surprised by the amount of concern in Amy's tone. Knowing that Amy was worried about him... well, it had been a long time since someone had cared about his wellbeing. It tugged at something within him.

"Take it easy, Ames. I'm fine. I'm not sure how I lived, though—I mean, my car was shitting glitter and nacho cheese. Lucky break, I guess." Stanley slipped his hands into his jacket pockets.

"So, your friend is an AI?" Maya pointed at the ceiling.

"Yep. What about it?"

"It's just... you talk to her like she's a real person. Then again, this AI seems pretty intelligent. Was Amy made from a human template?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That is correct," Amy said. "My human template was a Republic scientist named Amy Huddgins."

Stanley paused and puckered his mouth. "Wait... human template? What do you mean?"

"When some AI systems are created, the template of a human personality is used to make them better at solving complex emotional conflicts. Since my primary function is nursing, it was imperative for me to have social capabilities and a more human way of speaking. Thus, the human template."

"Huh... so there's a human Amy out there that sounds exactly like you?"

"Yes. But with her separate life experiences, she's likely very different from me in personality. I have none of her memories—only her wiring."

"Okay, this has been interesting," Maya said, "but I need to get going. Let's split the credits and be done with this."

Stanley breathed out sharply through his nose, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

"I'm sorry," Amy said, "but would you care to elaborate? Why are you demanding a portion of his credits?"

"I saved this guy from being roadkill, and that comes at a price. It's time to pay up."

"I guess you're right," Stanley said.

He slipped the band from his wrist, then held it out in the palm of his hand. Maya approached and went to grab it.

When she was about to snatch it, Stanley pulled away and tossed the bracelet behind him. The credit band flew through the air and landed on the floor. Just as Stanley hoped, a panel in the floor opened up, swallowing the bracelet.

Maya's eyes widened. "Did you just..."

The airlock door opened behind Maya, and the panel of floor that she was standing on lifted up like a flap. She was ejected from the ship, and with a yelp, she landed on her back outside.

She got up and tried to rush the door, but it hissed shut. Maya pounded on the outside and shouted something unintelligible.

"She's out! Go!" Stanley shouted.

In response, the ship's engine whistled and hummed, coming to life. As Amy moved the ship upwards, a few heavy _thunks_ hit the side of the ship.

Stanley made his way to the cockpit and sat down. The ship rotated so that they faced Maya. She was standing in the alley with her gun in hand, and she fired green bolts of plasma at their hull.

Amy pulled the ship up and out of the alley, leaving her behind. They flew deeper into the city, the lights zipping by below them. Only the tallest skyscrapers managed to reach their height.

"Amy... that was perfect," Stanley said. "I gotta admit, I'm impressed with how you handled that."

"I guessed you would want to hold onto the cash long before you threw the bracelet. I was just prepared."

A panel in the dash opened up, revealing the bracelet. Stanley grabbed it and turned the device over in his hands. It was simple and reflective, with little in the way of markings beyond a series of scratches on the side, like tally marks. His rubbed the carved marks.

"So, how much did we win?" Stanley asked.

"Enough to buy a condo on the tropical moon Yeterug."

"I'm guessing that's a lot?"

"We have more than covered our financial needs."

Stanley smiled and sat back in his seat. "Wow, I kind of feel _bad_ for those other racers. I mean, they had fast cars and everything, but they were no match for dumb luck."

"I think there was more than dumb luck at play."

"Oh yeah, that's right. You helped."

"That's not what I meant, Stanley. Not just anyone would be able to pull off a win after their AI failed-especially when one isn't familiar with the technology."

"What do you mean?"

"What you did was impressive. Even an AI can see that. I don't know how you did it, but I have a guess that your courage and tenacity is what won the race."

Stanley frowned and considered this. "Eh, I'm not really either of those things. I just... don't have much to lose." He looked at the metropolis below, a crease forming between his eyebrows. His eyes were lost in the mess of city lights as he thought about what little awaited him back home. Even if he did make it back, he would have nothing. He would still be a high school drop-out, Rico would still be looking to collect his money, and he was still banned in thirty-two states.

_Maybe this life isn't so bad. At least here, I have a place to stay, food to eat, and... and a friend. There've been some close calls, and the multiverse is a weird place, but it might be better than eking out an existence on Earth._

However, the thought of plunging into the unknown and living in the strangeness of the multiverse scared him. He felt out of place, as if the multiverse was a body, he was the invading bacteria. If not for Amy, he would've felt completely alone.

"Stanley, after we refuel the ship, where did you plan to go from here?"

He paused. "You know, I'm not sure. I didn't think I would survive for this long. I'm looking for my brother, Ford, so if there's a place where I can locate him, that would be ideal."

"Stanley... I don't mean to pry, but why are you looking for your brother? Is he missing?"

"We... got separated. Right now, I have no idea where he is. He could be anywhere. He could be in danger, and I wouldn't know."

Amy paused as she thought. "Well, the Library of Alexandria would be your best bet of finding anyone. It has a large collection of information open to the public. If your brother has done any travel between dimensions with Republic portals, it will be recorded there."

Stanley perked up. "That could work."

"There's one problem, however. The library is located on the Republic home planet-dimension 83-C Earth. Unfortunately, after our encounter with the Republic Enforcers, they have you listed as a criminal. Here's a digital wanted poster." She posted a picture of Stanley on the windshield. Only his profile was visible, and it was blurry, but he could tell that his eyes were in the middle of closing and his mouth was twisted in a sneer.

He frowned. "Great. How are we gonna get in there without getting arrested?"

"To my knowledge, beings across the multiverse often sneak into the library. Bounty hunters and other criminals use their databases often. All we'd need to do is find someone that's willing to help us fake your identity."

"Okay. Where can we find someone like that?"

"One moment." Amy went silent. "There appears to be a team on the MWC looking for a skilled AI with hacking capabilities. They're good at creating fake identities for a reasonable price, and they're willing to personally sneak someone in using a cover story. The best part is they're offering interdimensional portal services on this planet. I can contact them, if you're interested."

"Who are they, exactly? I don't trust just _anyone_ with my forged documents."

"I'm unsure of who this group is exactly, but I'm reading the reviews. They're rated with five stars."

Stanley felt a nervous clench in his gut. He didn't like the idea of working with complete strangers. While normally he listened to is instincts, this particular situation was difficult. He didn't have much of a choice. While breaking into the Library of Alexandria seemed like a terrible idea, if he could locate Ford, it would be worth it.

_But what if I go through all that trouble to find him, and he tells me to get lost?_

His bottom lip trembled as he remembered what Ford said just before their fight. _Get as far away as possible._

He raised his chin and pressed his lips together. _Then that's it, I guess. We'll... we'll go our separate ways. But I have to know he's okay first._

Stanley sighed. "All right, go ahead. I've been lucky so far."

* * *

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	15. Go Play

Mask shot at the creature repeatedly, each shot hitting its mark. The plasma charred the creature's slimy skin, but the black marks faded and disappeared within seconds. While the plasma did nothing, it was enough to make the beast angry. It snarled at Mask, its snout wrinkling.

"Ah... a melphbeast," Kashek muttered. Despite the fact that a huge monster was blocking their way out, Kashek seemed unperturbed. "Don't worry, it's nothing we can't handle. Naero, clear the way."

Naero nodded, then ran to the monster, shield held high. The melphbeast bent its curved neck and tried to bite down on Naero's shield, but the shield hissed as it touched the monster's skin. The creature snorted and recoiled. Its neck frill quivered. Naero ran past it, then waited in the hall for it to follow.

The melphbeast ignored the rest of the team as it chased Naero, screeching as it went. The hollow shriek reverberated in Ford's ears.

"Is she going to be okay?" Ford asked.

"I'd say so," Kashek said. "We've faced beasts like this before."

With the melphbeast out of the way, the rest of the team ran down the hallway and took a turn. Naero ducked around the melphbeast once more and joined them at the rear. She kept her shield up and ready for the creature following behind them. It snapped at the energy shield and gurgled, the muscles in its neck standing out as it grew angrier.

The creature opened its mouth and shot a lump of yellow slime at them as they ran. It missed and hit a wall, making it sizzle. Steam rose up from the slime as it slid down the wall, leaving it silver with dark burn marks.

Ford gave the slime an incredulous stare.  _Incredibly corrosive, yellow color... I bet that's chlorosulfonic acid. Amazing. I bet it's a top predator on its home planet._

Another glob of acidic slime was launched from the creature's mouth. It narrowly missed Ford's head and landed on the floor with a hiss.

_As fascinating as it is, I could've gone without seeing it up close._

While the melphbeast was deadly, it wasn't fast. It fell behind them, not able to turn the tight corners as well as its small prey. Eventually the growls from behind them quieted. Kashek, who was in the lead, took a few more turns just to be safe, then stopped, breathing hard.

Ford glanced at his watch. They were down to eighteen minutes.

"Everyone, split up!" Kashek shouted. "We'll have more of a chance of finding the key if we cover more area."

"But what will we do if the melphbeast finds us?" Witka asked. "Only Mask and Naero have weapons."

"Run," he said. His lilac face was set in a hard frown. "We're running out of time. We need to gamble if we want to make it out of this alive. Mask will find and distract the monster we're already aware of. Typher will go with Ford, Naero will go with Witka, and I'll go with G."

No one spoke out against Kashek's plan. The others parted ways in their assigned pairings, running down different hallways and disappearing from sight. The only ones that lingered were Ford, Typher, and Mask.

Mask's head faced Ford, then slid to Typher. Ford wasn't sure why the alien stared at them; his mask revealed nothing. It was doubtful that Mask could even "see" like the rest of them with the blank silver mask covering his face. It was like a mirror, reflecting Ford and Typher's faces on his disguise.

Ford frowned, the back of his neck prickling. There was no good reason to fear Mask beyond the unnerving way he looked and moved, but the unexpected action put Ford on his guard.

The melphbeast poked its pale, ugly head around a corner, and snorted when it spotted them. With a scream bulging in its throat, it ran toward Mask, its needle teeth ready to tear something apart. Mask jumped into action, shooting the beast and avoiding its acid spit.

Ford grabbed Typher's arm and yanked him along to a branching hallway. "Follow me!"

"Mm-hmm." Typher smiled at the ceiling and stumbled over his own feet.

"Typher!" Ford clapped his hands in front of Typher's face. "That monster  _will_ eat us if we stay here!"

Typher blinked and shook his head, then looked at Ford with more lucidity.

"Right, right. Sorry." He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll... I'll follow you."

Ford took the branching hall with Typher trailing behind him. The pathway went in a zigzag, then turned down a long, straight hall. He listened for the melphbeast and the sounds of combat. The fight grew quieter as they walked.

"This way." Ford stepped into a different connecting corridor. He tried to keep in mind the general direction of where they came from, memorizing the twists and turns. He already had a mental map of where they'd been, which he expected would be useful when it came time to "go back to the start" as the riddle instructed.

Typher followed while wearing a confused expression. He ran his hand along the walls, then rubbed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Ford asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I think I'm coming out of the synth haze." He shook his head. "I'll be okay in a bit, I think."

They turned another corner. Up ahead, Ford could see a small, metal box sitting on the floor at the dead end.

"That's it! We've found it." Ford breathed a sigh of relief.

They approached the small box. Ford knelt and threw back the lid. Inside, a silver key sat on a purple, velvet pillow. He grabbed the key and shoved it into his pocket. With the small weight, some of the tension in Ford's rib cage relaxed. They were so close; all they had to do now was find the place for the key.

 _The key slot must be at the beginning_ , Ford thought.  _Tick tock, you won't like this part. Tick tock, go back to the start._

They went back down the hallway and came to a four-way intersection. Ford glanced at the different options, his hands resting on his hips.

"I think we take a left here—" Ford was interrupted by Typher pulling him by the collar of his trench coat into the left path. He stumbled backwards and tried to shout at his companion, but Typher clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling his voice.

"Shhhh!" Typher hissed.

Ford pried Typher's rough and calloused hand away. "Wha—"

Typher put a finger to his lips, his eyes flashing, then hid in a small alcove. Ford glared at Typher.

 _Trust me_ , Typher mouthed. With some reluctance, Ford did likewise, hiding in the small nook.  _He better not be hallucinating._

Typher pointed to the intersection. From their hidden spot, they watched the melphbeast come into view, walking through the intersection. Its head appeared first. Ford ducked into the alcove before the creature's milky eyes could spot him, his heart jumping.

_It was on our trail the whole time! If it's here... did something happen to Mask?_

The rest of its body crawled past, disappearing down the path they just left and leaving a wake of sour perfume. Only now did he notice the unmistakable scent.

They waited together in silence before either dared to speak.

"Uh... thank you," Ford said, rubbing his arm. "How did you know it was there?"

Typher tapped his nose. "Synth... it enhances a person's sense of smell. Not sure why. That thing smells worse than the lower tiers, and that's saying something."

"How are you feeling?"

"Eh, not good. But I'm better than I was." Typher rubbed his forehead. "It didn't last long. The more you have synth, the quicker it wears off."

"You've used synth?"

"I've done a little." He shrugged. "Didn't like it. I prefer being clearheaded in reality, no matter how bad it gets. But maybe that's just because I've seen the alternative."

Ford nodded, remembering Typher's mother. She was trapped behind her mask, forever breathing in fumes, wasting away in a realm of fantasy and synthetic happiness. He couldn't imagine Typher living the same life, but the fact that he'd contemplated it was concerning.

Ford closed a fist around the key in his pocket. "Typher, now that we have the key, I think the next step is to go back to the start of the maze."

"Let's do it," Typher said, squinting at Ford. "Sorry, you're a little fuzzy right now. Do you know where to go? These hallways all look the same."

"Yes, I've been keeping track. Keep close to me. I'll lead you there."

They walked in silence, retracing their steps as they went back to the beginning. Every so often after a complicated passageway, Ford would pause, searching for their location in his memory.

 _I think I remember this hallway... This is where the acid-spitting creature showed up._ The burn marks from the acid and gun shots were faintly visible, rough and uneven patches of wall and floor under the hallway lights. Mask was nowhere to be seen.

He continued on without trouble until they arrived back at the start. There wasn't much there besides the item room and the red button.  _Where would they hide a key slot?_ For a horrible moment, Ford considered the possibility that he was wrong. While he'd been certain of his idea, if he turned out to be wrong, it would put all of them in danger. Ford looked down at his watch and saw that only fifteen minutes remained.

With a new sense of urgency, his eyes scanned the walls.  _Would it be in the item room?_ He doubted that it would be, so instead he knelt next to the red button. He pressed it again. This time, the button popped off, revealing a key slot.

Ford fumbled for the key in his pocket and pressed it into the slot, turning it with a click. Nothing happened. The clock on his wrist kept counting down.

"What did that do?" Typher asked.

Ford read the riddle again and stayed on the last two lines.  _Tick tock, then you'll have to run. Tick tock, then our game is done._ "I think we need to find the exit elevator, but I haven't seen it yet, and we're running out of time."

"Okay, but what about the others?" Typher said. "How can we let them know the elevator's been activated?"

Ford paused, suddenly uncomfortable. "We'll do our best to find them and the elevator. I'm not sure we can do more than that."  _What if we find the elevator and they don't? Will we have to leave them behind? Or what if they find the opened elevator, and Typher and I are stuck wandering the maze?_ Ford mentally turned away from the thoughts. There was no use in thinking them. The only thing that would help him was action.

Typher nodded, his face grim. "Okay then."

They wound their way back to the place where the team split up. Ford glanced between the two options they didn't take—the paths that the others chose—then picked one.

When they turned a corner, they saw a figure with curled horns at the end of a long hallway. Kashek was slumped against the wall, his face tight with pain. G hovered over him and put a shot in his arm with one of his metal fingers.

Ford and Typher looked at each other, then ran to him. As they neared him, Ford could see blue blood leaking from a wound in Kashek's side. His clothing was a blackened, burned mess around his torso, and there was a cloth bandage overlapping it. Blue seeped into the white bandage. Kashek's eyes were bleary as he looked at them.

G's arm was also blackened and melted, warped with heat. Colored wires hung out of his elbow. The arm hung by his side, sparking.

Ford knelt beside the team leader and inspected the wounds. "Kashek, what happened?"

"Something... or someone tried to kill us..."

"Someone?" Typher asked.

As Ford looked over the wound, it didn't strike him as a burn by chlorosulfonic acid. It looked like a plasma wound. And the only one with access to a plasma weapon was...

"Mask."

Typher, Kashek, and G looked at Ford.

"Are you sure?" Typher asked. "Why would he do that?"

"I'm... not sure," Ford admitted. "Did you see the attacker?"

"I only got a glimpse," Kashek said. "He... he shot us from an adjacent hallway." He paused to cough. Blue blood stained his teeth. "It didn't look like Mask. It looked like... a human."

Ford paused and put a hand to his chin. "Human? That's impossible."

"I could've been seeing things." Kashek coughed again. It was a wheezing, dry hack. His breathing turned ragged.

Typher closed his hands into fists. "We can talk about this later. Ford, help me carry Kashek. We'll find the elevator together."

"But what about the key?" Kashek asked.

"I've already found and used the key," Ford said. "The elevator should be open."

"Good," Kashek said in a breathy voice. He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut. "I saw it earlier... It's down this hall and to the right."

"We'll carry you there," Ford said.

Typher nodded, then helped him pick up Kashek.

"You're a heavy one," Typher said, puffing.

Kashek grimaced. "You should leave me behind. I doubt I'll make it. I'll just slow you down."

"Not gonna happen," Typher said.

They ran to down the hall and to the right like Kashek instructed, then saw the silver elevator in the distance. The doors were open.

They made it to the elevator as quickly as they could manage. Typher set Kashek on the floor inside and propped him up on the wall. Kashek's breathing was shallow as he clutched his wound.

"Wait here," Ford told them. "I'll try to find the others. You and G can stay with Kashek."

Typher looked as though he wanted to argue, but he kept quiet. He nodded.

Ford looked at his watch. Ten minutes were left.

With his body warm from exertion, Ford ran back out into the hall and took another turn. As he ran, he spotted Naero's force-field bracelet discarded on the floor. He picked it up and slid it on his own wrist, dread washing over him like cold water. The only reason Naero would've dropped her shield and left it behind was if she were attacked.

He continued in the same direction, all the while listening for Naero or Witka. The maze was silent.

Entering a new hallway, he picked up on the smell of chocolate. It was overpowering, as though someone was baking a cake somewhere in the maze.

 _What? Why would...?_ The smell might have been pleasant, but made Ford tense and suspicious.

He was about to turn around when he heard a panicked shout that sounded like it came from Witka. Naero's cry followed soon after.

"Help!" Witka called out.

"Somebody, help!" Naero echoed.

The voices came from the direction of the chocolate smell.

With a sharp grimace, Ford activated the energy shield with a press of a button. He continued down the hallway, then took several turns, going left and right. The chocolate smell grew stronger.

As he came out of the last turn in the hall, Ford saw someone up ahead that was strikingly familiar. Typher stood in the middle of the hall, his arms folded. He looked as though he were waiting for something.

"Typher?" Ford said.

Typher turned to him and raised his eyebrows. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you." He walked towards Ford.

Ford backed away. "Why aren't you with Kashek?"

"Helping you is more important," Typher said. "We don't have a lot of time left. Did you hear Naero and Witka shouting? I think it came from down there." He pointed down the hall to a branching path.

"Right... thanks."

Ford lagged behind as they walked together to the branching path. All the while, Ford stared at the back of Typher's head. He knew something wasn't right. It was odd that Typher showed up in the middle of the maze after agreeing to watch Kashek. Ford kept his distance from Typher as he tried to reason out the situation.

When they reached the branching path, the smell of chocolate was so strong that it felt as though Ford had cake stuffed up his nose. He entered the branching path with Typher, noticing several new pathways with distaste. Witka and Naero were nowhere in sight, and Ford doubted that they were anywhere close. He wasn't content to follow Typher—if that was who this really was—any farther.

"Typher, I'm going to head back—"

A force rammed into Ford. His back hit the floor and he held up his humming shield. The crushing weight of a pale, slimy monster sat on top of him. Ford cried out as he tried to lift up the melphbeast's weight. Trying to lift its midsection felt like fighting against a boulder, and it took the breath out of him. The purple force-field was the only barrier between them, and it inched closer as Ford failed to hold up the monster's weight.

The creature clawed at his shield, green liquid oozing out of its long snout and evaporating on the shield's surface. The smell of chocolate turned into a fishy scent. Ford gagged.

"Typher, help!" he called out. No one answered.

The creature slid off the shield and poised for an attack, swishing its white tail. Ford got up from the ground slowly, his shield raised and his arms aching.

The hallway behind him was empty. He backed away, then ran. He took a turn, heading back to the elevator. The creature let out a deafening scream behind him. He could hear its claws slapping against the floor.

Rounding a corner, he ran for his life down the home-stretch to the elevator. When he had gotten halfway there, he felt a spiky trap of teeth close around his leg. He cried out and gritted his teeth at the sharp pain. The creature tugged. Ford dropped to the floor as it dragged him backwards. He swung his shield and bashed its nose, but the creature was determined; it wrinkled its snout and ignored the strike.

There was a  _cher-chunk_ as something lodged itself in the beast's back. The creature shrieked and let go. When it turned around, Ford saw a harpoon sticking out of its hide.

Naero and Witka approached from down the hall. Naero had a harpoon gun in hand and was looking down the sights, focused and undaunted. She fired again. Another harpoon lodged itself in the creature's skull. The melphbeast collapsed to the floor, limp.

"Thanks," Ford said. His leg pulsed. The melphbeast's needle teeth had made a mark, but the wound didn't look fatal.

"We found item room with a harpoon inside," Naero explained as she approached him. She pulled him up by his arm. "Do you know where the others are?"

"Yes. They're down there, in the elevator." He pointed down the hall. "We have just enough time to get there."

Naero supported his shoulder as he limped to the elevator. With every step, Ford ignored the stinging in his leg. It was as though someone had injected him with poison ivy. Already, it felt as though his leg was swelling.

When they entered the elevator, Ford saw Mask standing a corner beside Typher and Kashek. He was missing his gun.

G was no longer working on Kashek. Instead, he stood by his side; there was nothing more that he could do for him.

All of them looked up when Ford entered with Naero and Wikta. He hobbled over to an unoccupied corner and sat down with a wince.

"What happened?" Typher asked.

Naero dropped her empty harpoon gun. "The melphbeast bit him."

"Typher... did you ever leave this elevator?" Ford asked.

Typher puckered his lips. "That's a weird question. No, I didn't. G can vouch for me. Why?"

Ford didn't answer. He rested his head against the wall.  _The person I saw in the maze... that couldn't have been Typher. He has a solid alibi._ He breathed in sharply. The situation was horribly familiar. He was shocked that he didn't see it earlier. 

"Kashek!" Naero squeezed past everyone to get to his side. He was curled up on the floor, barely breathing. Naero shook him. "Kashek, what happened?" She looked around at everyone in the elevator. "He's dying! How did this happen?"

"He was with me when he was attacked," G said. "We were both wounded by a plasma weapon. Stanford believes that we have a traitor among us."

"A traitor? Who?" Naero asked.

"Mask," G said.

Everyone turned to look at Mask.

Mask straightened and curled his claws into fists. "What? You can't possibly think I'd betray my own team."

"But you had the plasma gun!" Naero snarled.

"I lost it during my fight with the melphbeast. Anyone who found the gun could've shot them." He held a staring match with G.

Ford narrowed his eyes at Mask.  _He's obviously lying. He probably ditched the gun after shooting Kashek and G._ Ford looked away at the ground, his eyebrows pulling together.  _You'll be revealed for what you are soon, Mask._

 _But why would he try to kill his own teammates? It doesn't make any sense._ There was something deeper going on, but Ford only had suspicions about Mask's motive.  _Well, it doesn't matter what his motive is. He needs to be stopped. But I'll need to be careful. If I'm correct, then Mask is incredibly dangerous._

Kashek stopped breathing. His eyes were vacant and glassy.

"Team member Kashek has been eliminated," said an automated voice. When the voice was done with its message, the silence that fell afterwards was unforgiving. Witka's eyes flickered to Naero.

Naero huffed and got to her feet. Her shoulder muscles tensed under her black shirt. Her tail lashed.

Witka put a hand on his lizard-like head and blinked slowly. "No... we've done this for years and never had an incident. Why would... Kashek..." Witka's voice trembled and broke off. He covered his eyes. "We were all supposed to leave together," he whispered.

The tension between the team members was palpable in the air.

The elevator stopped rising, and with a ping, the doors opened.

* * *

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	16. You're an All-Star

Witka and Naero lingered by Kashek's body. They knelt beside him, silent.

Naero placed a clawed hand on Kashek's shoulder, saying nothing.

The siblings lowered their heads together. Everyone in the elevator was quiet except for Witka and Naero. Together, they keened softly—a mournful sound that was barely above a whisper. Their voices sounded like a pair of flutes, their melodies intertwining, drawn out and forlorn. Even though Ford barely knew Kashek, he felt a faint, aching sadness resonate in his center. It was as though the siblings could make others feel grief with just their voices.

When they were done, Naero stood, her shoulders squared and her face a hard mask. Witka stayed kneeling, whispering something under his breath. He put his hand on Kashek's head as he continued to whisper.

"What's he doing?" Typher asked gently.

Naero shrugged. "A death prayer. Witka still believes in the gods Kashek taught us about. He was always more religious than me."

Ford listened closely to what Witka was saying and watched his rapidly moving lips, but he could only pick out bits and pieces.

"May the pantheon preserve you... may you be reunited with your son... in peace and joy..."

 _His son is dead?_ Ford thought back to his conversation with Witka. From what he could remember, Kashek was a bought player like Witka and Naero.  _Maybe his story is similar to theirs. Perhaps he became a player to pay a family member's debt... his son's._ Ford felt a prick of anger, the unfairness of it all suddenly apparent.

Meanwhile, blood soaked through Ford's pant leg, turning the fabric dark red. G took a roll of bandages from a compartment in their center, then tried to wrap the bandages around Ford's leg. Since they couldn't hold the fabric in place and tie the bandage with only one arm, they failed a couple of times before Ford stopped them.

"Here, I'll help." Ford held the bandage in place as G pulled it tight. He winced at the squeeze and gritted his teeth.

"Your treatment is not complete," G said. "You have need of a medical room. While I can bandage the wound, combating Melphbeast venom is more difficult. If we cannot find a medical room, you will not make it to the end of the game alive." The robot's glowing eyes held no emotion as he spoke.

Ford's fingers retracted into fists as a chill went down his spine. It sounded more like a promise than a possibility.

"Or," Mask said, "we can just hurry and be done with this."

Ford studied Mask. Mask stared back at him. Ford dropped his eyes and frowned.  _This situation is too similar to my experience with Shifty. An unexplained double of a person that behaves out of character... the clues are obvious to me now._

An image of Shifty's frozen body in the cryotank back in his underground lab made him bite the inside of his lip. It had been difficult to contain him, and this time, he didn't have a cryotank.  _He's probably waiting for the right moment to murder us all. As soon as he doesn't need us, we're dead._ Ford tried to keep the dread from his face. He'd already made himself more of a target with his accusation.  _But why? What does he want?_

Ford glanced at the other members of his team. None of them deserved to die. What would happen to Typher's mother if he failed to retrieve the prize money? And there was Witka and Naero to think about—they deserved lives outside of Homage. Mask couldn't get in the way of that.

_Forget about learning his motivations. He's a threat that needs to be taken care of. Somehow. And at the right moment._

Naero poked her head out the door and frowned, lines pulling at her face. "It looks like a standard calculation grid. Watch where you step."

"Ford, can you walk?" Typher asked. He held out a hand.

Ford took Typher's hand and stood. He tested his foot. It still throbbed, but he was able to put his full weight on it. "I'm all right for now."

"Walking is all you'll need in this room, anyway." Typher glanced at the open room.

The new room was bright, with large square tiles covering the floor. On each tile, there was either a number or a mathematic symbol. Cameras sat in each corner of the room, watching them with their dark eyes. Heavy turret guns sat below the cameras. Across the room was the next elevator, and above it was a black screen that covered most of the wall.

The team stalled in the elevator. Witka was still praying beside Kashek, and no one wanted to disturb him. It seemed cruel to leave Kashek there, his blank eyes looking to the door. Ford wanted to help, but there was nothing he could do.

Witka finished his prayers and stood, his smaller inner arms wrapped around himself for comfort. "It's done," he said. "Let's move on. The level designers will take care... take care of his body." He said the last part quickly and swallowed, then looked at the floor.

Naero put a hand on her brother's shoulder. He took a shaky breath in and touched her shoulder as well.

"Are you okay?" Naero asked.

"Not even close," Witka said. "But this team needs me."

Witka rubbed his sloped forehead as he looked out across the grid. "They're going easy on us. This is one of the two-hundred core puzzles that the level designers fall back on. What we need to do is make sure that whatever we step on doesn't amount to something over fifty. Ever. Otherwise those turrets," Witka pointed to the large guns in each corner near the ceiling, "will shoot us and the door will close."

"Can't you and Naero just fly to the elevator?" Ford asked.

Witka shook his head. "I wish it were that easy. The level designers are watching. The turrets will gun down anything that flies. We have to play by their rules, or not at all."

"Seems pretty simple. It's like playing with a giant calculator, and each tile is a button," Typher said. "Keep the total under fifty? I think we can manage that."

Typher glanced around at the open room and looked at the tiles at the front of the door. The tiles reached all the way to a large and open space in front of the next elevator—a platform they were all meant to reach. Typher stepped onto a six, and with a clicking sound, the tile lit up. The screen on the wall facing them came to life. A white number six appeared on the screen.

" _Typher_ ," Witka hissed through his teeth, "you can't just plunge ahead. The sequence has to make sense, or we'll die. We need to make a plan."

"Relax, Witka. This is basic math. Besides, if we stay here, another team will win."

Typher stepped on the tile a pace ahead of his own, this one sporting a multiplication symbol. He stepped on a four next, and the number on the screen flickered, turning into a twenty-four. Witka dragged his hand down his face.

Ford examined the tiles and rubbed his jaw. "Will it allow for something more complicated?"

Witka sighed and shook his head. "No. You can't step on one symbol after another, like a multiplication symbol after a division symbol, or something like that. The grid doesn't allow for complex equations, and it will kill us for trying. Just make sure to alternate the symbols and numbers, or if you step on multiple numbers, be aware of how big of a double-digit number you're creating."

"Easy enough," Mask grumbled.

Typher looked back at them from halfway across the room. He rubbed his chin as his eyes picked apart the symbols that he could potentially step on.

Even though Mask's face was covered, Ford could feel his attention on his back.  _What if Mask tries to kill us here?_ Mentally, he measured the distance between the two elevators.  _No... it's too far to run. Even if Mask transforms himself into a Melphbeast to withstand the plasma blasts, he won't make it in that slow form. He'll have to wait until he's close enough. Somehow, I'll have to find a way to keep him at the back of the pack._

Ford looked at his options, then stepped on a division symbol. Next, he stepped on a two. The number on the screen turned into a twelve. By the time he reached Typher, he had managed to knock down the number on the screen to an eight.

Naero stepped out next, picking an addition symbol. Typher stepped ahead, picking a five. The number changed to a thirteen.

Ford surveyed the area and noticed that more complex symbols existed. There were symbols that would give the screen number exponents, or take the square root, or even change it into a negative number. The symbols near the opposite elevator were more complicated than the ones near them, and the numbers were bigger as well.

Witka went out next, followed by Mask and G. Ford watched as the screen number morphed into an eight. The last person to step on a tile was G, and his tile of choice had been the same division symbol Ford started out on.

Naero eyed another tile, this one marked with a zero. She went to step on it.

"Wait, Naero, stop!" Ford called out. Naero paused, her foot hovering in the air. "You can't divide by zero. I think something like that would qualify you for target practice."

She pulled her foot away and looked at the benign zero with new apprehension. "Thanks. Forgot about that."

Ford let out a slow, exasperated breath.  _When's the last time these people took a math class?_

They settled into taking turns, and while G, Witka, and Typher seemed confident in their decisions, Naero and Mask were slower with their tiles.

 _They need a leader_ , Ford realized. With Kashek gone, someone needed to pick up the slack.

"Everyone, listen to me," Ford said, "I have a PhD in mathematics. I can get us out of here alive, but you have to follow my orders."

"Sounds like a plan," Naero said, shrugging.

"I would... prefer that," Mask said begrudgingly. He was swiveling his head back and forth at the number tiles, unsure of where to go next. "I'm unfamiliar with these number symbols."

Witka and G nodded their consent.

"Sure, if it gets us through quickly," Typher said.

_Perfect. That way, I can keep Mask at a distance._

Ford looked at the numbers around him. He stepped on a two and the number on the screen changed again, taking the recent division symbol into account.

"All right, Witka." Witka looked up. "I need you to step on that multiplication symbol." Witka did as he was told, sidestepping. "And Naero, I need you to step on that zero. It won't hurt you this time." Naero stepped ahead, and the total on the screen turned to zero.

Most of the room was dealt with in the same fashion, with Ford directing the other players where to go. As Ford directed them with accuracy, the tension between them eased up. The mathematics were simple—way below what Ford was used to doing—and within a couple of minutes, he moved them a two-thirds of the way through, like pieces on a chess board.

Typher came within spitting distance of the elevator. Ford was right behind him, with the others bringing up the rear. Mask was in the very back. The number on the screen was a negative sixty-two. They were close to winning, and as such the game had reached a climax. The tiles surrounding the elevator made the situation delicate; one of the tiles would take the square root of the number, one would give it an exponent of two, and as Witka had explained to Ford, the other two would give the number a random exponent amount. Ford stared at the random exponent tiles, a question mark hovering above an X symbol.

_There's a fifty-fifty chance the random exponent tiles will kill us. An even exponent will make the number positive, and multiplying those positive numbers will make a lethally high number. But an odd numbered exponent would keep the number negative. As for the other tile, I can't imagine that taking a square root of a negative number would bode well for us... I don't think this system cares for imaginary numbers. It should be simple enough just to knock down the number with—_

"ATTENTION." A booming voice filled the room, startling all of them. "TEAM TWO HAS ARRIVED AT THEIR FINAL CHALLENGE LEVEL. THAT IS ALL."

Naero lashed her tail. "No! That doesn't make any sense! We had a huge advantage. How can another team be so close to winning?"

_What? How is that possible? We were making incredible time!_

"Something's not right about this," Witka said. "In past games, and from my own experience, the level designers don't have to be completely honest. They could be tricking us."

"Forget strategy," Mask said. "I say we rush the elevator."

"Don't you move a muscle." Typher jabbed a finger at Mask. "If you do that, we're dead."

"Just try and stop me," Mask said. He ran ahead on his thin legs, pressing tile after tile. The tiles flashed red. The number on the screen skyrocketed, sprouting six new digits as it turned into a number over fourteen-million.

"No!" Ford shouted. He pressed a button on his bracelet and created a force field just before he was pelted by plasma. He recoiled with the force of it and rotated as he tried to protect himself from all angles.

Typher rolled into the elevator, then pressed his feet and back against the closing doors. His face turned red with exertion. The elevator door struggled against him, threatening to smash him.

Like a velociraptor, Mask ran ahead, narrowly avoiding being hit by plasma by twisting and turning at just the right moments. He wasn't hindered as he leaped over Typher and into the elevator.

G ran behind Mask and skirted around the plasma with surprising adeptness. Even though G's body didn't seem to be built for agility, they got to the other side without an issue.

Witka wasn't as lucky. He ran to Naero and tried to protect her by covering her with his body. The plasma hit his wings, charring the fleshy membrane and burning holes through it. Witka cried out and collapsed.

"Witka!" Naero pulled him over her shoulder and carried him across the room, snaking around blasts of plasma.

With shooting pains in his leg, Ford shambled over to them and covered their escape with his shield. They all managed to squeeze into the elevator, with Ford entering last.

Typher let the elevator close, then breathed out, his hands resting on his knees. Ford deactivated his energy shield and rested his hand on his good leg. Witka sat in a heap in the corner, breathing hard as green oozed from his wings. G inspected his wounds and tried to piece the membrane together with a needle that extended from their finger.

The elevator rose. No one spoke. The only sounds between them were Witka's grunts of pain and the snapping and clicking of G piecing his wings back together.

Ford straightened and turned to Mask, his expression cold, but he didn't say anything.  _I just need to get away from him and speak to the others about this. We need to leave him behind._

Naero turned away from her brother and came close to Mask, her teeth bared. "What was that? You almost got us killed! My brother is hurt because of you!"

Mask folded his arms. "It doesn't matter. We're all alive and closer to winning. I'd consider that a success."

"Doesn't matter?" Her breath left a fog on his silver face. Even though she was shorter, she was still intimidating as she glared at him. "Of course it matters! We didn't come this far to be killed by you."

Mask stared at Naero and said nothing.

"Naero's right," Typher said. "What you did put us all in jeopardy."

"Fine," Mask said. "I apologize for my rash actions. It won't happen again." He seemed unconcerned.

Naero went to stand over Witka and snorted. "You're just lucky that we Eraphderacts heal quickly," she muttered.

She knelt and helped hold Witka's wings in place as G pieced them back together. Witka writhed under her grip and winced with every stitch.

Naero growled and held him tighter. "Hold still! We want this to get better, not worse."

The elevator door opened again. This time, they were presented with a room that had a long table in the middle. On the table were six flashlights.

Ford glanced around the room, looking for any potential traps, but it seemed safe. He picked up one of the flashlights and pressed a button, turning it on.

Witka sniffed the air from the corner of the elevator he sat in. He got to his feet with Naero's help, his injured wings twitching. Although his wings looked terrible, stitched lines covering them, G had managed to stop the bleeding. Witka was already looking more alert despite his obvious pain.

He folded his wings to his back, his face strained. Naero held his arm, her face concerned.

"I'll be okay," Witka said to her. "Let's keep going."

They came to the table, each of them picking a flashlight. Naero helped Witka out of the elevator and picked a flashlight for him.

A door to their right slid open, revealing another room. Darkness waited on the other side.

"I  _really_ don't like what that's implying," Typher said.

"Are we supposed to search for the elevator in the dark?" Naero asked.

"It will be dark for  _you_ ," G said. "I have a night vision setting."

"I can see in the dark as well," Mask said.

"Good for you two," Typher said with a frown.

While they spoke, Ford never let down his guard. He watched Mask with apprehension, waiting for him to make a move. Mask turned his head to Ford, noticing his stare, but didn't make an aggressive move.

G walked into the new room first. Naero and Witka followed behind him. Ford and Typher kept to the back with Mask. While Typer walked ahead of Mask, Ford stayed behind with his flashlight trained on the alien's rag-covered back. When all of them had entered, the door slammed shut behind them.

"That's ominous," Typher said. "Hey Mask, cut it out with the heavy breathing on my neck. You sound like an Aizagorak going into labor. I might mistake you for a monster."

Mask growled.

They walked down the hallway, their flashlights the only illumination. The darkness around them was cold and humid, and if Ford listened closely, he could hear a draft echoing from somewhere.

G stopped walking. "There's a ladder here," they said, looking up a vertical tunnel that Ford couldn't see. "I don't know where it ends. There appear to be tunnels shooting off to the left and right of the ladder all the way up."

"Lead the way," Ford said.

G climbed up the ladder, his metal feet clacking against the rungs. Ford followed behind Mask while holding his flashlight in one hand. His leg ached as he put pressure on it and black dots flitted across his vision. The constant heartbeat in his leg worried him, and he wondered how serious his symptoms would get as the venom worked through his system.

They fell in behind G one by one as they stepped into a tunnel to the left of the ladder. They shined flashlights down the long tube.

G walked over a vent on the floor, and most of the team followed over it. Just before Ford crossed, a wave of light and heat shot up in front of his face.

Ford jerked away from the wall of fire. "Hot Belgian waffles!" He felt his face to see if the fire had singed his eyebrows. The fire died down, revealing the faces of the surprised group members. Mask's back was singed, and the burning rags glowed in the dark.

"That was close," Naero said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm all right."

Typher snorted. "What did you say? Hot what?"

"Um... nothing." Ford was suddenly glad for the darkness; no one could see his face turn a shade of pink.

Ford shone his flashlight on the rectangular floor vent. It looked docile and unassuming when fire wasn't spewing out of its metal slats.

Fire rose up from the vent again, licking the ceiling of the tunnel. When the fire died down again, Ford charged ahead as best he could on his leg and rejoined the team.

There were a few other vents like that along the tunnel. They patiently avoided each one, eventually coming to the other side of the tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, it opened up to another ladder. This ladder was just like the last, with tunnels on the left and right of it. There was another tunnel directly across from them, and fire shot up from inside, illuminating how long it was every few seconds or so.

A tapping sound echoed off the walls, far from where they were. Ford stopped in his tracks.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Yeah, and I don't like it," Typher replied. His eyes shifted around, then looked at the ceiling as though he expected something to drop from it.

They paused in the dark for a moment, listening. Everything went silent.

"I don't hear anything," Mask rumbled.

"Me neither," Naero said.

"Okay... let's keep going." Ford motioned for them to move forward. "Just keep an eye out. I don't think we're alone."

G grabbed the ladder and climbed up. The rest of the team followed, with Ford being the last to grab the cold steel rungs. A draft rushed by, scattering Ford's hair and sending a chill through his body. Beams of light from Naero, Witka, and Typher's flashlights cut through the darkness above.

Ford shone his flashlight below him and found that they were high up. It was like they were in a gap between two bookshelves, with every tunnel being a shelf. There were more than Ford expected, and for the first time since starting Homage, he wondered about the dimensions of the tower and how something like this could be considered one room.

_Impressively gargantuan. The architecture must be incredibly flexible. And if it's reshaped every year and specialized for each team, with multiple teams playing at once... I wonder how they do it._

When Ford turned his head back, his mind full of architectural possibilities, Mask was no longer above him. He was gone.

"Everyone, stop!" Ford shouted. The team stopped climbing and looked down at him. "Where's Mask?"

No one answered his question. They saw the absence and looked around, but the black form was nowhere to be seen.

_Agh! That was foolish. I should've been watching him the entire time. Now he's gone and he could reappear at any moment in another form!_

"Stick together!" Ford said. "Get to a tunnel, quickly!"

Without speaking, the team found a tunnel on the right and hopped into it. They stayed on the lip of the tunnel in a tight circle, their flashlights grazing the area around them.

"Where did Mask go?" Witka asked. "Did he leave, or did something take him?"

"There was no noise," Typher said. "I think he snuck off."

"Everyone, listen," Ford said. The others stopped speaking and looked at him. Witka's beam of light hit his chest. "I'm standing by what I said: Mask is the traitor."

"But Kashek said he saw a human form," Typher said.

"Typher, I also saw  _you_  in the maze," Ford said.

Typher stiffened. "But I didn't—"

"I know," Ford said. "I think that Mask is a shapeshifter. I've dealt with a creature like him once before, and the situation is eerily similar. In my case, the shapeshifter transformed himself to look like a close friend of mine. I think Mask did the same in an effort to kill me."

"So, he really did kill Kashek, didn't he?" Naero said, her snout wrinkling. "I knew it."

"But why?" Witka asked. "What does he have to gain from this?"

"I... I don't know," Ford said. Not having an answer made him uncomfortable.

During all of this, G remained silent. His gaze flicked from person to person as he observed them.

Ford put his hands on his hips as he thought. "When did Mask join the team?"

"Right after you did," Witka said. "He stopped Yaven and asked to join. It was almost like he was spying on Yaven, because Yaven never made it public that he was still recruiting."

 _He must've been watching me at the bar..._ Ford snapped his fingers. "Typher and I  _do_ have bounties on our heads. It wouldn't be a stretch if a bounty hunter joined the team. Homage would be an easy place to kill us."

"So why would he target Kashek and G?" Naero asked. She folded her arms. The others looked at Ford expectantly.

"I'm not sure." Ford looked at G and tried to glean any information he could from a quick observation.  _If I remember right, Yaven's robot servants had a similar design. It would make sense for Yaven to enter a well-built robot of his own creation... but that still doesn't explain why Mask would attack him or Kashek. I doubt they have a history._

"I agree with Stanford," G said. "It's likely that Mask is a bounty hunter. However, I don't know why we were attacked. Organics can be unpredictable. Maybe it was bloodlust."

Ford shook his head. "We need more information to crack that mystery. Something's missing from the puzzle. In the meantime, let's just find the elevator. And  _stick together._ Mask could pose as any one of us."

They continued walking down the tunnel and stuck close together as Ford ordered. Ford's elbows were close to touching Naero and Typher. G and Witka kept close behind. Their footsteps reverberated in the empty darkness. The only thing that made them pause were the fire vents. They waited, timing the intervals, then passed over the vents without trouble.

When they came to the end of the tunnel, Ford's light moved across something irregular. He caught sight of a large bulk that was bumpy and light green.

The thing let out a gargled cry. Ford lifted his flashlight just in time to see the monster lunge at them.

His hands acted on their own, slapping the button to activate the energy shield. The purple dome came up just in time to block a scythe appendage. The bladed arm jabbed at Ford and knocked him backwards into G and Witka. The creature recoiled, wheezing as the tip of its bladed arm smoked.

"What is that?!" Typher's voice was panicked.

"I don't know and don't care," Ford said. "Run!"

With their head start, Witka and G made it a fair distance down the tunnel before a fire vent went off, cutting them off from the rest of the group.

Because of his injury, Ford was slower than Naero and Typher. They didn't realize how far ahead they were until both looked back at him, their faces horrorstruck as a fire barrier went up, dividing them from Ford. He waited for the barrier to descend, but the fire wall stayed up, leaving Ford on the other side with the monster.

 _The level designers are manipulating the vents! They're trying to get me killed!_ Ford turned away from the fire and faced the creature. With the light of the fire, it was easier to see the alien's ugly body. It was shaped like a mushroom, with crab legs, a pair of scythe arms, and round, black eyes in its center. It croaked at Ford, its sharp fangs glistening in the firelight.

Ford could feel the heat of the fire on his back. Sweat dripped down his temple.  _Could this be Mask? Or is this creature a part of the level? If it's Mask, I... I might not walk out of this._

The creature ran at Ford. He waited until the creature was almost on top of him to sidestep. The creature ran at the fire and stopped just before its face reached the flames.

With all the strength left in him, Ford hit his shield against the monster's back. As the shield hit the monster's skin, it hissed and bubbled, leaving it charred. The monsters screamed as it was pushed into the flames.

The fire engulfed it. The creature let loose a strangled cry, stepping out of the vent, then fled down the tunnel, stepping into the fire of another vent. It stumbled forward, wheezed, then collapsed.

All of the muscles in Ford's body relaxed at once. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, shaking. His leg was throbbing, but at the moment Ford didn't really care. Being alive was enough at the moment.

_Definitely not Mask. He must still be prowling the tunnels somewhere._

The fire subsided, leaving the tunnel dark once more. He waited, but the vents had stopped spewing fire even at timed intervals. Ford lifted his flashlight and found that the others were gone.

He did his best to dash down the tunnel. His leg complained with every step, but he couldn't slow down.  _I might already be too late. That pause was enough time for Mask to find a team member and replace them._

Ford walked out of the tunnel as quickly as he was able to and came down the ladder. Listening closely, he heard someone shouting from a tunnel below him.

He stepped into the correct tunnel and the voice became more piercing.

"Anyone! Typher, Wikta, G? Where are you?" Naero held her head in her hands, her slitted eyes wide with anxiety. She looked up from her panic when Ford's flashlight beam traveled over her face. "Ford? You're alive!" She breathed out a sigh of relief. "When the fire barrier went up, I thought..."

"I thought so too, but I'm all right," Ford said. He approached her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Naero, where are the others? Wasn't Typher with you?"

"I got separated from him. A second monster attacked us. He ran one way, I ran another. I thought... I thought if I could find Witka..." She turned away and covered her eyes. Her shoulders shook, but she was silent. She took an unsteady breath in. "I've never had a Homage go so wrong. Even in that first Homage, we lost people, but Kashek was always there to lead us. We won because of  _him._ Now that he's gone..." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I just don't want to lose my brother. Not him too."

Ford put his hands in his pockets. He wanted to console her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but he didn't know that, and he didn't want to lie to her. Mask could be hunting down the others, and there was nothing Ford could do except look for them and hope.

With an awkward, hesitant movement, Ford placed a hand on Naero's shoulder. She looked at the hand, then at him.

"Naero, I'm not Kashek, but I'll do my best to see that Witka's safe. I promise."

She nodded slowly.

"They can't be far," Ford said. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, Witka, Typher, and G appeared behind Naero, walking calmly to them.

When Typher saw Ford, he grinned and ran over to him. "You made it! I thought you were done. Maybe I should've had higher expectations, especially after what I've seen you do, but... wow. How are you feeling?"

"Not good." At Typher's words, Ford's leg seemed to flare with pain. "I'll be better once we get out of here. What happened? How did you find the others?"

"Witka got separated from G. As it turns out, the same monster that gave Naero and I trouble tried to attack them too."

"What did it look like?" Ford asked.

"Like a rat mixed with a glargnaws. Anyway, I got separated from Naero and bumped into them. G was hiding in a tunnel below this one, and Witka was looking for us. Also, as it turns out, the elevator is back there." Typher jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "It's open and waiting for customers."

Naero pushed past Ford and embraced Witka. Witka jumped, surprised at the affectionate attack, then put his smaller arms around Naero while wearing an embarrassed smile.

"Thank the Axolotl you're safe!" Naero smiled, then pulled away and punched him in the gut.

"Ow!" Witka rubbed his torso.

"When we tell you to stop running, you stop running! We were supposed to stick together!"

"I'm sorry!" Witka put his hands up in defense. "I thought you were behind us."

"Wait!" Ford came forward and put himself between Naero and Witka.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Naero tried to push him out of the way.

"Stanford, is everything okay?" Witka asked.

"No," Ford said, "this is exactly what I was afraid of. One of you could be Mask in disguise."

"How do we know it's not you?" Naero asked, scowling.

Ford looked to Typher. "Typher, when we first met, what did you call me?"

Typher raised his eyebrows. "Picasso."

"Correct. There, I just eliminated two of us." Ford gestured to Witka and Naero.

With a worry in her eyes, Naero looked at Witka. "What was my pet miokma named?"

Witka blinked. "Yuyu."

"That's right." Naero turned to Ford. "What about G?"

With one arm, G removed their head and tossed it at them. Ford caught G's head in his hands. G was silent, watching them with glowing eyes.

"Okay," Ford said, "shapeshifters are masters of disguise, but I'm pretty sure they can't do that." He handed G his head back.

"So none of us are Mask?" Typher asked. "We all passed."

_No... this doesn't make any sense. Why would Mask waste this opportunity?_

Ford's hands fidgeted by his sides.  _If we get on that elevator and find that we left someone behind... Agh! We don't have time for this._ His leg ached—a constant reminder of his approaching death if he didn't find treatment quickly.

_Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe Mask didn't get to one of us in time. Maybe he ran into trouble._

_Or maybe I'm about to make a fatal mistake for someone on my team._

"ATTENTION." The loud voice caught all of them (except for G) by surprise, making them jump. "TEAM THREE HAS ARRIVED AT THEIR FINAL CHALLENGE LEVEL."

This time, Ford wasn't sure if he should doubt the announcement or not. Even though they had skipped many levels, it was possible that another team had been granted a similar advantage. After all, Yaven couldn't be the only one bribing the level designers.

"We need to move on," Ford said. It pained him to do so, but he had no other choice. "Typher, lead the way."

When they all stepped on the elevator, Ford studied each face. He couldn't find a difference in behavior or appearance with a simple observation. Naero stayed by Witka's side, a loyal and protective sister. Typher untied his leather jacket from his waist, put it on, then leaned against the wall. He reached for a cigarette in his pocket, but then drew his hand away when he remembered that he hadn't brought any. Witka still had all of the same stitches in his wings with no difference from where they had been before. And G... G was still a robot.

_If Mask is among us, then he's great at his job._

* * *

Brx'uh qrw jxhvvlqj d fdshu fdshu dqbpruh, Irug.


	17. You're a Rock Star

The place where the team of identity forgers wanted to meet looked suspiciously like an abandoned garage. The sun was peeking over the skyline, illuminating the boxy establishment in an orange glow. The garage door had psychedelic graffiti pasted all over it in a spaghetti of colored lines.

The  _Caduceus II_ drifted to the ground, pushing away bits of trash as the landing gear connected with the ground. Stanley couldn't see anyone outside. He squinted at the dark windows, searching for any sign of movement.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Stanley asked.

"This is the location they gave me," Amy said. "Perhaps they're inside."

He sighed. "Why does it have to be a creepy garage?"

Stanley left the pilot's chair and exited the comfort of the ship. He walked to the garage door and rapped on the metal with his fist, making it rattle.

"Hello? Anyone home?" Stanley called out.

The garage door lifted up in response, grinding and shifting until he could see the shadowy interior. Stanley backed away and eyed the darkness.

"Come in," a voice rasped.

"Turn on the lights first," Stanley said.

"I can't. It stings my eyes. Trust me, there's no sense in harming you. Come in."

Stanley's lips twisted into a grimace. "Fine. But if you try anything, my friend is watching from that ship, and she  _will_ attack you."

"Understood."

He edged into the darkness. As soon as he was inside, he heard something shuffle forward. The figure coming toward him breathed heavily, as though the steps cost him serious effort.

"I am—" the voice began. He was interrupted by the light flicking on. The alien that stood in front of Stanley was dark blue. He had three pairs of arms, red eyes, and a face that was partially covered by a handkerchief. The alien seemed insect-like with his carapace and multiple limbs. He stumbled backwards and hissed, covering his face with his many arms.

"Welcome!" said a new, reedy voice. Stanley turned and saw a small figure standing in a doorway. A spider monkey wearing a pink dress faced him, her hands on her hips. "You must be the new guy," she said. "Sorry about Daran. He comes from a planet without bright sunlight."

Daran crawled underneath a table and buried his head in his arms. "The light... the light... it stings..."

"You can come with me." The monkey gestured with one furry arm to follow her. "I'm Hannah, by the way. Hannah Lokpear."

"Um, okay." Stanley followed Hannah and tried not to stare. Her fuzzy head came to just above his knee. She walked straighter than any monkey he'd seen, and she swayed her elongated arms back and forth as she walked. Her flowered pink dress would've fit a doll. Somehow, seeing a monkey walk, talk, and wear clothes was more disturbing to him than most everything he'd encountered so far.

"I'm this group's leader," Hannah said as they walked down the hall. "Before we make any decisions, I want to know how smart your AI is. Would you say that she's high-quality?"

"She's the smartest I've seen," he said.

They entered a room with a couch and a monitor on the wall. The floors were barren concrete, and the white walls were covered with black graffiti. Another alien was sitting on the beaten couch, drinking a can of worms. This alien was white with blubber that sagged over the cushions. As it dumped worms into its mouth, it expanded to a size large enough to swallow Stanley's head. Once the can was empty, the alien swallowed it, belched, then wiped its mouth with one of its four tentacle arms.

"That's Terf." Hannah motioned to the white blob wearing khaki shorts. "He's our muscle."

Stanley looked Terf over, searching for any of this supposed muscle. Terf grinned at Stanley with his elastic face; the smile stretched, making him look like a nightmare version of the Pillsbury Doughboy.

_Welp, I'm never sleeping again_ , Stanley thought.

Hannah turned to face Stanley and crossed her arms. "If your AI is as good as you say she is, then I'll be more than willing to help you get inside. I can give a you an identity and cover story that I know will work."

"And that is?"

"My team will accompany you to the library with matching digital records. We'll be going as musicians—an interdimensional band called the Hairy Elbows. I'm Hairy," she pointed to herself, "and you're the Elbows."

"Yeesh, who picked  _that_ name?" Stanley scrunched up his face.

"I did," Hannah said. "Is that a problem?"

"Um, yeah." Stanley matched Hannah's glare. "It's the worst band name I've ever heard. If I'm gonna be a part of a band, why not name it something cool, like... the Neon... Astro...Burgers... or something? Ignore that example."

"It doesn't matter what the name is." Hannah waved her hand dismissively. "What matters is that we play the part convincingly. Can you play any instruments, Stanley?"

"Nope. Guess I'll have to be a backup dancer instead," he said, half-joking.

"I suppose..." Hannah rubbed her chin with her dexterous foot. "I'll play the electric tambourine, Terf will play the synthesizer, and Daran will be the lead singer."

The ridge where Terf's eyebrows should've been raised on his mound of a head. "Daran can sing?"

Hannah snorted. "With auto-tuning, anything's possible."

"Hang on," Stanley said, "you say that like we're actually performing."

"Don't worry, Stanley." Hannah swished her tail and laced her hands. "It depends on how believable our records are. Ours are pretty good, but there have been authenticity checks in the past, so we're prepared for that event. If it does happen, I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Oh yeah. Sure, sure. I'm a great dancer."  _Uh-oh._

"Anyway," Hannah said, "I want to meet the artificial intelligence."

"Her name's Amy," Stanley corrected.

Hannah stared at him. Stanley squirmed under her dark-eyed gaze.

"What?" Stanley shrugged. "That's her name. Might as well use it."

"Right," Hannah said, shaking her head.

She rushed over to the monitor on the wall. After fiddling with a few different dials, static came onto the screen. The static abruptly cleared, leaving the screen blue.

Amy's voice came through the monitor. "Hello?"

"Hello," Hannah said. "Is this... Amy?"

"That's correct. Are you the group leader?"

"Yes. I'm Hannah."

Just then, Daran came into the room from the hallway. His purple paisley handkerchief was now pulled up around his eyes as a blindfold; despite his obstructed vision, he seemed to walk around without a problem. He held a synthesizer in one arm and a tambourine in another. The tambourine looked different than the ones Stanley was used to; this one was like a life preserver with circular lights embedded into it.

Hannah smiled at Darren, showing off her sharp canines. "Just in time, Daran. Now Amy, I need you to transfer your consciousness to this electric tambourine. Can you pick up on its signal?"

"Yes. One moment, please." The monitor went dark, then the lights on the tambourine flashed. "Transfer complete," said the tambourine.

"Excellent," Hannah said.

Daran gave the tambourine a shake. The lights flickered.

"That. Felt. Odd." The tambourine lights glimmered as Amy spoke the three staccato phrases.

"We'll keep shaking to a minimum, then," Hannah said. "Okay, everything looks good except for one thing. If we're going to be a band, we have to  _look_ believable." Hannah eyed Stanley's old red hoodie and jeans combo. "Yeah... that's not going to work. When we heard you were human, we had a feeling you'd be wearing something... unsavory. We have something else in mind." She snapped her fingers.

Terf plunged a tentacle into the couch cushions and pulled out a silver sequined suit jacket.

"Oh no, I am not wearing that!" Stanley put his hands up and scowled.

Terf lowered the jacket, his face pouting. "But I worked hard on it..."

Hannah frowned, then walked over to Terf and patted his arm. "Don't worry, Terf, it's fabulous." She turned her frown on Stanley. "This is the only costume we have that fits you. Besides, with this disguise, they'll never suspect us. We even have a dress shirt and bow tie to go with it."

Terf shook the jacket. A wrinkled dress shirt and a black tie fell out.

Terf threw the jacket on the ground and sniffed. "Well, if he doesn't want it, we can help someone else." He folded his tentacle arms. "Lots of beings answered the ad."

"Ugh, fine. Just promise me that I won't have to wear it for long." Stanley grabbed the discarded clothing and draped the bundle over his arm.

"I promise," Hannah said. "As soon as you're ready, join us in the garage."

"Hannah, if it's all right, I'd like to stay and speak with Stanley," Amy said.

"I don't have an issue with that," Hannah said.

Daran handed Stanley the tambourine. The instrument was warm in Stanley's hands. The team filed out of the room. Terf dislodged himself from the couch with some difficulty, his skin peeling from the surface with a sound like unsticking tape, and trudged out, his skin rippling with every step.

As soon as they were alone, Stanley placed Amy on the floor and peeled off his hoodie and t-shirt.

Stanley automatically reached for his exposed shoulder blade and touched the now healed brand. It was a smooth, unfeeling mark thanks to Amy's medical care.

Amy spoke up, her voice by his foot. "I wanted to ask what you thought about this crew. Do you think we can trust them?"

Stanley laughed. "Trust them? These guys are criminals, Amy. Just watch your back and don't cross them. Especially that monkey—the whole 'talking animal' thing... it isn't natural."

"I guess so. It's just... I'm not sure why they need my hacking capabilities, and they've been vague about it. I was just worried."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Let's just get in and get out, okay? I don't care about what they do as long as we don't get arrested." He held up the wrinkled dress shirt and frowned. Pulling on the crisp cotton shirt, he pulled it together and matched the buttons with the holes. The bow tie was a clip on, so it was easy to place on his shirt. He pulled on the sequined jacket and pulled it straight, buttoning it in the middle. "How do I look?" He held out his hands and turned to the tambourine.

"Convincing, I suppose. I can't actually  _see_ you, but I'm sure it looks nice."

Stanley looked at his disheveled clothes on the ground. He felt an odd pang in his chest as he contemplated leaving the hoodie and t-shirt behind. It was comfortable and familiar, unlike everything he'd encountered so far.  _I'll be back for it._  He shrugged the feeling off and picked up the tambourine.

"You ready?" he asked.

"As ready as you are. And Stanley, there's... something else I wanted to ask before we left."

"Okay, sure." Stanley raised his eyebrow at the tone of Amy's voice. It seemed... nervous.

"When I was first programmed, I was directed to help people in the medical field. But for years, I've been the captive of beings that couldn't care less about that mission. What we're doing right now—this is the most purpose I've had since I was a nurse in the Teokan War. I guess I was wondering... when we find your brother, can I come with you wherever it is you're headed?"

Stanley's eyes widened. He smiled softly and ran a hand through his hair.  _Wow. When's the last time someone wanted to stick around me? I guess it hasn't been since..._

In the back of Stanley's mind, there was a place he tried not to pay attention to. Usually it was easy; he was good at distracting himself, and with his current situation demanding so much of his attention, his issues stayed where he couldn't see them. But with Amy's proposal, for the first time in a while, he turned his attention to the aching behind his rib cage. The hole that had followed him for years since the day he left home was filled, just for a moment. While Amy wasn't Ford, it touched him that she'd want to stay with him, even if she was just fulfilling her directive.

His throat felt thick, so he cleared it. "Uh, yeah, I think I can bring you along, if that's what you want."

"Thank you, Stanley. I'm not human, but you've treated me as more than an AI servant. No one has ever done that. I'm grateful."

"Ah, it's no a big deal. Like, I wasn't trying to be nice to you, but you're welcome." He smiled to himself.

Stanley stepped out into the garage. There was a ship parked to the side—a bulky black thing with the name  _Hairy Elbows_ spray-painted on the side in pink letters. In the back, the door was open. Stanley hopped aboard with Amy in hand.

The inside of the ship was cramped and reminded Stanley of an R.V. Terf sat on a couch that could barely contain him. Daran sat across from Terf, playing a game of cards with him on a square table. Some of the cards in the middle of the table were levitating. Daran was still wearing his blindfold, so some of his cards were upside-down and backwards.

Terf grinned when he saw Stanley, his face squishing and pulling. "Heh, the jacket looks nice."

Stanley closed his hands into fists, suddenly stiff and uncomfortable in the jacket.

"Up for a game of Go Femjwe?" Terf asked.

"Not really," Stanley said.

"Your loss." Terf placed a card on his tongue like a breath mint and swallowed.

Stanley squeezed past them into the main cockpit. Hannah was there, sitting in a chair that had padding leaking out of a hole in the top. The large seat drew attention to how small she was. She peeked over the dashboard and pulled up on the controls, making the ship hover in the air. Ahead of them, a white circle of light flickered on the wall. Hannah tilted the ship toward the small interdimensional portal. The ship drifted into the brightness, making everything go white.

The ship glided through the whiteness until form and value returned all at once to their surroundings. The land beyond the cockpit window was gray and pockmarked. There was no atmosphere—nothing barring the landscape from the ravages of space. All that existed above were the glittering stars and a distant blue and white marble that was fuzzy in Stanley's vision.

As the ship left the surface of the gray landscape and approached the orb in the distance, Stanley could pick out more details. There were hues of green and brown mixed with the blue and white. Within a matter of minutes, Earth filled up most of the cockpit windshield. The ship pointed to the Pacific Ocean, which was covered in shadow. A network of lights covered the land surrounding the ocean, a glittering web of gold.

When they hit the beginnings of the atmosphere, Stanley could hear the air rushing past them. Hannah pushed several buttons and flipped a few switches, then rotated the blunt tip of the ship so that it pointed to the surface. Flames ignited on the tip as it flew through the atmosphere. When the ship was a few hundred feet above the surface, Hannah pulled up and brought the bottom of the ship parallel with the vast ocean below.

"Welcome to the home planet of the U.I.R.," Hannah said.

"This is just Earth," Stanley said.

"There are many versions of Earth. The main difference here is the Library of Alexandria. It was burned in many other dimensions, but not this one." She pulled a lever with her tail as she spoke. "As such, their technology has advanced far beyond what many other versions of Earth have been able to accomplish. A similar thing happened in my dimension, except on my Earth, monkeys were the ruling species."

Hannah flicked two switches with her feet. The ship slowed and lowered from the sky. Down below, Stanley could see land rising and falling with patches of green. A large, dark ribbon snaked across the chunk of land. The ocean sat to the north. Hannah descended into the fan of urban lights on the edge of the ocean.

A city came into focus, running up the Egyptian coastline. The place was alive with a glowing blue that emanated from the buildings and other light sources. As they descended, the buildings, streets, and palm trees came into view. The streets all emanated a bright blue, making a grid of lines. The leaves on the trees glowed in the dark, all of them bioluminescent. The skyscrapers stood proudly next to the coast, sleek and unified in design. It was as though the same builder had created everything, from the smallest building to the tallest tower.

As they entered the city, other ships flew alongside them. People walked on the streets far below, and there were even some cars, although most of the traffic seemed to be airborne. After flying for a minute or so, the buildings gave way to a structure in the distance. A single glowing road from the city pointed to the entrance.

The mouth of the Library of Alexandria stood at the foot of a hill. The building was probably the largest Stanley had ever seen. It was so big that it was hard for him to comprehend that it was all one building. About the size of a town, it looked as though several different facilities had been smashed together to create one super building. The center looked older than the rest, made of ancient stone with pillars at the gate. The rest looked newer, as though the building had been added to over the centuries. Lights illuminated the stone statues of Egyptian gods sitting in their thrones on either side of the entrance. Ships of all kinds crowded around the airspace of the Library, and a steady flow of pedestrians went in and out.

"This is it," Hannah said. "The Library of Alexandria."

"Pretty," Stanley said.

Terf and Daran came and stood behind Stanley. Stanley scooted forward a few inches to keep from touching Terf's belly fat.

To their left, the sun threatened to rise on the horizon. The sky was turning a rosy pink. Within hours, the sun would be casting its full light and heat on the desert city.

Hannah tilted the nose of the ship so that it was pointed to a large collection of reflective, cylindrical glass towers that stood right next to the library. The ship approached a top section of the tower. A glass door slid aside, revealing an open space just large enough for their ship. They floated into the space and landed. Hannah lowered a lever. The humming of the ship lowered in pitch until it went silent.

Daran and Terf left the cockpit without prompting. They took cases of things and strapped them to their backs. Daran had a gigantic rectangular case on his back, which made him hunch more than he already did. Terf carried two briefcases, one in each arm, and a tiny backpack that was barely big enough to fit a wallet. Hannah hopped out of her seat and went to join them. She grabbed a discarded briefcase and held it in her tail.

"Let's move out," Hannah said, motioning to the door.

They exited the ship and walked across the small parking space to an elevator. Through the glass floor, Stanley could see the elevator rise. Aliens of all kinds exited and entered their parking spaces, going up and down the elevator.

When the elevator reached the top floor, they stepped inside the cramped circular space. Stanley elbowed Terf's sagging belly for room. Terf didn't seem to mind, as though this was a regular problem.

The elevator descended quickly and soundlessly, gliding past the floors until they reached the bottom. They exited the elevator and walked across the strange blue roadway that was still partially glowing in the dim morning light like a glow stick. Joining a large migration of aliens from the towers to the library, they came to the front entrance.

The two statues at the front had their harsh features illuminated from a blue light below them. Stanley stared at the large statues as they passed. Their featureless eyes stared down at him. He felt a chill despite the growing desert heat.

They went up a set of old steps until they reached several sets of glass doors at the entrance. These doors were lined with security; spherical robots hovered in the air, and human guards with guns were checking aliens before they passed through. Scanners that reminded Stanley of turnstiles at an amusement park blocked the way.

Hannah went first and presented one of the guards with a see-through card. The guard swiped the card through a hand-held device attached to his arm and read the information that popped up on his screen with hard eyes. As they waited for a response, Stanley eyed the guard and wondered if he could win in a fight against him. He was older, with wrinkles around his mouth and white hair. While he was old, Stanley noticed that the guard kept one hand at his side when not in use, right next to his gun holster. He was probably a good shot.

The old guard raised an eyebrow and looked at Hannah. "The Hairy Elbows?"

"We're a fan of hairy elbows here, sir." Hannah lifted her arms and exposed her own hairy elbows. She smiled, flashing her monkey teeth. "We're here to record our performance for future generations."

He nodded slowly. "All right, then. Another one for the music archives. I'm just gonna scan those instrument cases you've got there."

They set down their things. A robot fluttered to them and scanned the instrument cases one by one.

"What's that you're carrying?" The guard pointed to the tambourine in Stanley's hands.

"An electric tambourine," Stanley said. "What? You got an issue with it?"

"Please set it with the other instruments. We need to scan that as well."

Stanley glanced at Hannah. She nodded. He placed Amy on top of the pile and waited as the robot scanned her. One of the lights on the robot flashed red. The old guard narrowed his eyes at Stanley.

"Care to explain why there's an AI in your tambourine?"

Stanley opened his mouth, but Hannah was quicker.

"It's just a simple AI that helps him keep time."

"What does he do?" The guard gestured to Stanley.

"He's first and foremost our choreographer. With that tambourine, he's the best dancer on his home planet."

The old guard folded his arms. "I'm not convinced."

"Go ahead, Stanley," Hannah said. "Show him how it's done."

"I-I don't have any, uh, music to dance to," Stanley said. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Here," Hannah said, grabbing the tambourine. She handed it to Stanley. "This should help."

With the tambourine in hand, Stanley drew in a deep breath and slapped it against his hand. It made a rattling sound with each smack. The aliens who were getting their documents scanned watched him with interest. Stanley's face turned pink.

"Okay, this is a dance for our new hit single. It's called 'Why Is This My Life Someone Help Me _.'"_

While Stanley did have  _some_  experience with dancing, between the scrutiny of the old guard and the gawking aliens, he doubted he'd be able to bust a move to save his life. He went with his pure instinct.

He spun around, clapped, then spun around and clapped again. He waved his hands in the air. Pointing in the air with one hand, he brought the hand back down to his belt. With his tambourine hand on his hip, Stanley pointed his hand back in the air like John Travolta. He inwardly cringed at his own moves and spun around on one foot, going into a kneeling position. He held his hands in the air. "Ta-da!" he said, out of breath.

"He's tired from our long flight," Hannah said, rubbing her head with a frown. "He's, um, usually much better."

The guard placed a hand on his chin. "Not too bad." He glanced down at his wrist. "Okay, your credentials check out. Go on in."

Stanley followed Hannah and the others into the library, passing through the scanner. As he went through the glass doors, his face was hit with a wave of air conditioning.

His mouth parted as he looked up at the ceiling, and he almost ran into an alien as he stared at the dome far above their heads. There were ancient pillars supporting the rest of the room, and faded paintings hung from the walls. In the center of the cavernous room, there was a circular desk. Aliens and humans in uniform sat at the desk with holographic computer screens. Everywhere Stanley looked, the original library had been merged with new technology.

Hannah avoided the clumps of aliens around the help desk and went straight for a row of computer screens on the far wall. Hannah came to a vacant one and tapped its dormant black screen. A search box appeared.

"Okay," Hannah said, "this is how you're going to find your brother. Just type in things like 'alternate dimension travel records' and search his name. Now if you'll excuse us, we have some business to take care of."

"Wait, you're leaving?" Stanley said.

"Only for a little while. Don't worry, we'll be your ride out of here. Oh, and one more thing; we're gonna need Amy to come with us."

Stanley instinctively tightened his grip on the tambourine.

"Hey, we had an agreement. We get you in, you provide us with an AI." Hannah held out her hand. "It won't take long. Trust me."

With some hesitation, Stanley handed the tambourine to Hannah. Hannah grinned-a disturbing sight with her fangs.

"See you soon." They departed, disappearing into the crowd. Once they were out of sight, Stanley turned to the computer.  _Don't worry, she'll be fine,_ he reasoned.  _She can handle herself._

_Okay Stan, just type in what Hannah said. No problemo._ Stanley typed _ **alternate dimension travel records**_ into keyboard below the monitor and pressed enter. It took only a second for the computer to bring up thousands upon thousands of names. The database listed their name, their destination, what their ship's I.D. was among other important facts. There was a smaller search box in the corner. Stanley typed in  _Stanford Filbrick Pines._ The entries shuffled, showing hundreds of results. His heartbeat sped up at the sight.

_Has Ford really been travelling this much?_ Stanley read the entries closely. Next to their names was a box with a string of numbers and letters. The box description read  _ **origin dimension**_ _._ The Ford at the top of the list was from dimension Utavon-988, while the second one down was from Galenxia-210. A horrible thought struck Stanley.  _I don't even know what dimension I'm from. How am I supposed to find the right Ford?_

Stanley backed out and entered something new into the search box.  _What dimension am I from?_

_**Hello, and welcome to the Library of Alexandria. Are you trying to find your dimension of origin?** _

A text box showed up with an option to say yes or no.

Stanley tapped yes.

_**Scanning will begin in a moment.**_ A blue light flashed and roamed up and down Stanley's face. He flinched.  _ **Thank you for your patience,**_ the text box said.  _ **You are from dimension 47'\\.**_ Some of the knots tied in Stanley's stomach loosened. That was something he could work with.

The noise of excited crowd chatter made him turn. Next to the doors at the front, the crowd parted, letting a man and a few bodyguards with visors pass. Stanley couldn't pick out many features with his poor eyesight, but he could see that the man the guards were surrounding had black hair and a gray suit. There was a girl in a white dress beside him.

Several librarians walked up to the man and handed him electronic screens to read. His swiped the screens with slow, lazy flicks. Meanwhile, the girl went straight for one of the wings of the library.

Stanley lost interest and turned back to the computer. He went back to the alternate dimension travel records and scanned the lists for 47'\\. He felt a flush of excitement when his eyes grazed the exact dimension he was looking for.

He searched the entry, taking in every detail. The left column showed that Ford left the planet Janus in dimension 83-C and went to dimension Lottocron 9. Next to the travel information was a string of numbers and letters that was twice the size of a phone number. It was labeled as  **ship travel ID**.

Stanley didn't have a pen or paper, so he repeated Ford's ship ID under his breath. After repeating the line a few times, he realized that there was no way he could remember the ID reliably.

With no better options, he approached the circular desk and rested his hands on the edge. One of the librarians—a purple alien with tentacle hair—paused in her typing and looked up at Stanley.

"Hey, I hate to interrupt that important work you're doing," he said in his smoothest voice, "but I need to get a pencil and paper from you." Stanley grinned.

The alien blinked its yellow eyes slowly, like a frog. Turning around, the alien bent over and searched a stack of objects that Stanley couldn't recognize. With a flash of movement, the alien extended a pink, rope-like tongue and grabbed a pen. She turned back to Stanley and dropped the pen on the desk with a clatter. He winced as he picked up the wet pen and wiped it on his dress shirt.

"Gee, thanks," he said flatly. When the alien did nothing more, he walked away and examined the pen, turning it over in his hands. There was a glowing blue stripe down the side, and a button on the end, but when Stanley clicked it, nothing happened. It sat in his hands, feeling warm.

When Stanley returned to his computer, he clicked the pen a few times, trying to get some kind of nib to pop out.  _What kind of lousy operation are they running? They gave me a broken pen and no paper._ When Stanley held down the button, a light flashed from the end of the pen. A scanner, much like the one that analyzed Stanley, roamed up and down the screen.

"Information recorded," the pen said in a gravelly voice.

Stanley widened his eyes. "Oh."

A resounding boom to Stanley's left made him jump.

People and aliens cried out as one of the walls exploded. Dust and debris went everywhere, clouding the air. The guests of the Library took cover from the sudden collapse, running to hide behind the circular desk or pillars.

Hannah's small form sauntered through the hole in the wall. She had a silver gun that was nearly as big as she was in her arms. Daran shuffled forward with the tambourine in one of his many hands. He aimed a gun at the crowd. Terf had the girl in the white dress wriggling in his arms.

"All right, nobody move," Hannah said in a commanding tone, which was difficult to pull off in her squeaky monkey voice, but she managed it. "We only want one person. Give us Director Ralph Gunther and no one gets hurt."

* * *

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	18. Get Your Game On

Hi guys! Just so you know, the next chapter will be up a bit late. It should be up sometime next week. I've started school again, and as such it's become more difficult to edit these chapters. The next one in particular needs a lot of work, and I haven't been able to sit down and write once. It's been driving me crazy! If I'm feeling good and have a moment, I might get two chapters up, but don't count on it. Thanks for understanding!

* * *

 

This elevator seemed to take longer than the others. As it rose, Ford gaze flicked from each of the team members as he tried to pick them apart. Typher leaned against the wall, his arms folded as he scrutinized the other members. G was silent and rigid as he stood next to the doors. Naero and Witka stayed close together, and both of them were taking small, cautious glances at Typher.

Ford played with a button on his coat as he thought.  _If Mask were among us, then who would it be?_ To be honest, he had no idea. How could Mask know any of the information that was shared on the last level?  _It's possible that I'm just being paranoid._ Even still, Ford was reluctant to drop his guard.

 _I thought... I thought the monster that separated us_ was  _Mask. I thought he was using it as an opportunity to pick one of us off. But if that's the case, then how did he know...?_

_The only thing I know for sure is this: Mask is much more dangerous than Shifty. He likely has years of experience killing if he's a bounty hunter like I think he is. Surely he's thought ahead about how to trick his targets._

_And if that's the case, then he's probably tricked me already._

_But if it could be Witka, Naero, or Typher, who would it be?_

In the background, the pain in Ford's leg was getting more intense, making it hard to concentrate on the problem at hand. He wasn't sure what he'd do if it suddenly gave out on him, but for now, it carried his weight.

When the elevator doors parted, the team was greeted with white walls and tiled floors. On the wall opposite them were two black doors.

"I think it's safe to go forward." Witka walked into the room. The others followed behind him.

"Welcome to floor eleven," an automated female voice said in a pleasant tone. "The level designers congratulate you for making it this far. The rooms beyond require a brief explanation."

"That's new," Typher said.

"The door on the right will lead to a control hub. The door on the left will lead to a gauntlet. The gauntlet can only be passed if team member Typher enters the control hub and disables the obstacles as his team goes through the room."

Typher took in a quick breath through his nose. They all looked at Typher. He looked back at them uneasily and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Why me?" Typher asked the ceiling.

"You were randomly selected," the voice said. "Please comply."

"I guess I don't have a choice," Typher grumbled.

 _But what if..._ Ford stopped his worries in their tracks. There was no way Mask could know what Typher called Ford back on Vesta. There was no way for him to find out. Not only that, but Typher hadn't acted out of character once.  _I think I can rule Typher out._

G tugged at Ford's trench coat to get his attention. "I recommend that you let me go with him, just to supervise in case he tries anything. You know that I'm not Mask."

Typher frowned, then nodded. "If you feel like you have to, then I won't stop you."

"That's fine," Ford said. "Maybe he could use the extra help."

G and Typher entered the door on the right while the rest of them went through the door on the left. Ford entered first with Witka and Naero following him. Both Naero and Witka were more solemn than they had been, as though they were contemplating everything that had happened. Ford watched them, but he couldn't spot any flaws in their behavior.

"How are your wings, Witka?" Ford asked.

"Good, good." He fluttered them and winced. "Well, they've been better. What about you? How's your leg?"

"It stings..." Ford was now aware of how tired he felt. It was like he'd missed a night of sleep (a sensation he was familiar with). At the same time, his head ached, and his leg was still burning. "But I'm fine."

Witka nodded. Naero gave Ford a prolonged look, but said nothing.

The next area was a long stretch of hallway. Red lasers formed a wall ahead. Spike plates jutted from either side of the hallway, mashing together behind the lasers. After that was a stretch of bright, churning lava. A door sat at the end of the hall.

"Hey there." Typher's voice echoed through an intercom. "I've just gotten situated. There's a map in front of me. I can see four little pink dots that are about to enter a world of hurt if they step forward. I should have those lasers and spikes powered down right about... now." The lasers shut off, and the spike plates froze apart from each other on the wall, like gaping metal teeth.

Ford came forward first, walking through the obstacles with some apprehension, and came to the beginning of the lava stretch unharmed. A path came out of the lava, cutting through it to the door. Naero and Witka flew across while Ford took the path.

Once they were all safe on the other side, the door slid open, revealing the next room. They stepped inside the circular room, and a strong breeze ruffled Ford's hair, chilling him. A heavy humming filled his ears. Built into the floor in the center of the room was an enormous fan, its blades blurring with motion.

Typher yelled to be heard over the fan. "Are you guys ready to meet your biggest fan?"

All of them looked at the nearest camera with either looks of discomfort or disgust.

"Jeez, sorry. Anyway, this giant fan is no problemo. Just give me a second." The rotating blades slowed, coming to a stop and killing the breeze. "Next, I'll just lower this convenient rope they have for you. You guys should be clear to pass through the fan."

A thick rope lowered from the ceiling, coming to rest a few inches above the fan.

"This just keeps getting better and better," Naero said.

Neither Naero nor Witka made a move for the fan. They looked at Ford, as though expecting him to go first.

He sighed.  _Well, I trust Typher. I might as well go first._

Ford approached the rope, jumping onto it and clutching it tightly. He winced at the effort, and his injured leg thumped with its own heartbeat. Typher continued lowering the rope through the fan. Ford passed between the halted blades, holding his breath.

Naero and Witka decided to skip the rope entirely and took flight, slipping through the blades and coming to rest on the ground.

When Ford was lowered halfway down, mechanical whirring started up. Ford glanced up and saw the fan start to rotate again. Wasting no time in picking up speed, the blades snapped the rope as though it were made of floss.

Ford felt the tension in the rope disappear, and he cried out as he fell. His stomach dropped, and all he could do was watch as the floor rose up to meet him.

Before he could touch the ground, a pink blur zipped underneath him. His frontside met something solid, and his hands automatically latched onto Naero's shoulders. Ford breathed out a sigh of relief and touched his forehead to Naero's back. With a graceful turn, Naero flew lower and landed on the floor. Ford hopped off, feeling shaky, and tried to ignore his leg as it complained with the abuse.

 _What happened? Typher didn't do that on purpose, did he?_ The suspicion that Ford had beaten down rose up again, trying to get his attention. He gave it some distance, still unsure about the idea.  _Surely this was an accident._

"Typher, what was that?" Naero shouted at the ceiling. "Don't tell me that fan started on its own!"

"I... I have no idea what happened," Typher said. "Look, I'm just as confused as you. Maybe I bumped a switch or something. You guys are okay, right?"

 _Not exactly,_ Ford thought, gritting his teeth. Sweat broke out on his forehead as a sudden feeling of weakness came over him.

"Stanford, are you okay?" Naero's voice sounded muffled.

Ford tried to say something, but all he could do was bend over and rest his hands on his knees, his breathing labored.

"I... I'm..." With every moment that passed, he could feel himself succumbing to the melphbeast's poison. He wiped his forehead, and with a deep breath, he stood up straight. He ignored how lightheaded he felt. After a few seconds, the feeling passed. "I'm okay. Let's keep going."

Naero didn't respond. She still looked worried, but there was nothing to do but keep moving.

_Well, that mishap did have one benefit. I can rule out Naero. Mask wouldn't have saved me from that fall._

Ford glanced at Witka.

Witka noticed his stare. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, I was just thinking about our conversation earlier outside the Homage tower. You said something interesting about the wings of Eraphderacts, but I can't remember what it was. Do you remember?"

Witka blinked. "I think so, but it's fuzzy. I think I said something about how my wings don't show the scars of my previous injuries. Eraphderact wings don't carry marks. Was that it?"

"Yes, I think so." Ford turned away. It took all of his willpower not to show any visible reaction to what Witka said. He felt as though a weight had dropped on his chest, keeping him from breathing.

 _No... that's not Witka. We left him behind!_ His cold fear threatened to overwhelm him, but he shoved those emotions away, keeping them in the background.  _Don't focus on that. Only focus on solving the problem. Fear doesn't help anyone._

_Should I tell everyone? Or should I wait to make a move? Telling them now might put all of us in danger._

"I've got some good news. This is the last section," Typher said.

Up ahead, five spheres that were bigger than Ford sat in a line, blocking their way to the elevator. With the combination of their size and dark color, they had an imposing air, like five trolls guarding a bridge. In front of the spheres, there was a rostrum that had five circles on its face.

Naero approached the dais and put her hand on one of the circles. All five of the circles on the rostrum flashed. One of the spheres on the far left lit up with a high-pitched tone, then went dark. Naero pressed the corresponding circle on the control pad. The original sphere lit up with another sphere, the newer sphere having a lower tone than the first. Naero copied them.

"It's a game of Simon Says," Ford said quietly.

"Simon Says?" Witka cocked his head. "I've never heard of that."

"Just copy what the spheres do," Typher said. "Be careful, though. From what I can see here, if you mess up the sequence, those spheres will explode."

Naero paused, her clawed hand in the air as she considered the new information.

"Naero, wait." Ford limped over to Naero and put his hand on her shoulder. "I have confidence in my memory. Let me do this."

"But the venom is getting to you," Naero said, touching his arm. "What if you make a mistake?"

The consequences of failure flashed through his head. A memory of Bill Cipher's laugh echoed in his ears.

 _I have to do something. This issue with Mask... Kashek's death... it's technically my fault._ An image of Kashek lying on the floor, leaking blood, appeared in his head. Inwardly, he recoiled from it, but he couldn't deny the facts.  _Witka... Naero... they're both so close to being free. And I'm getting in the way of that._

He took a deep breath in.  _I can't get caught up in self-pity. It's my responsibility to fix this. If anyone can make this right, it's me._

"It's okay, Naero," Ford said. "Even with melphbeast venom in my system, I can do this. I won't make a mistake."

Naero stood aside, and Ford took his place at the rostrum. Naero and Witka kept their distance and watched silently.

Ford continued the sequence that Naero started, then followed the pattern as it grew more elaborate. He watched carefully as the sequences came faster, sounding almost like a song with their strange tones. Ford put in each pattern with ease, barely pausing. His hands darted to each circle, completing the growing sequence over and over. Although his head felt fuzzy, it was still coherent enough to memorize the pattern.

Behind him, he was painfully aware of Witka creeping closer, as though intended to peer over his shoulder. Ford glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and nearly missed inputting the right circle because of it. His neck tingled, and sweat broke out on his forehead.

_Why is he coming closer? Is he planning to do something?_

The sequence grew longer and longer until it eventually reached around a hundred moves. Witka came within a couple of feet of him and paused, watching Ford.

With Ford's last input, the spheres glowed and harmonized as they played their notes all at once. They died together, turning dark.

"You did it," Typher said, sounding surprised.

Ford jumped away from the rostrum to face Witka, his head pounding. Witka didn't try to attack him. He simply stood there, staring at Ford with curiosity.

"That was impressive," Witka said.

"Thanks," Ford said, wary.

"Yeah, very nice," Naero said, "let's just get to the elevator." She approached Ford and extended her arm for support.

Ford took her arm, then hopped with her towards the elevator. They came within spitting distance of the spheres while Witka lagged behind, staying out of earshot.

_Now's the time to tell her. I might not get another chance like this._

"Naero, I think that Witka-" he was interrupted by a flash of light.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Naero widened her eyes, then turned to Ford and rammed her shoulder into his chest. As she did so, she touched the bracelet on his wrist. His wrist-shield activated without his say-so, creating a purple barrier between him and the explosion as he was flung backward.

Ford's back hit the ground, knocking the air out of him. Wheezing, he rolled to his side. The ringing in his ears was the only thing he could hear. His shield covered him like a protective shell. He stayed on the cold floor and rolled to his side. Bits of debris—what was left of the explosive spheres—littered the floor. He deactivated his shield, then sat up and surveyed the damage.

 _Naero._ Ford looked around for her, but immediately regretted it. He bit his lip and looked away, suddenly nauseated when his eyes touched on something magenta curled up on the floor.

 _"_ Ford!" Typher's voice was frantic. "Ford, what happened? I saw the explosion."

 _No! How? I did everything right!_ Ford stared at Naero's unnaturally still body. He felt his stomach shift its contents again.  _Didn't I?_

Witka, who was far enough away from the explosion, was untouched. He surveyed the damage, his eyes stopping on Naero. There was no surprise in his expression. The only thing there was a cold acceptance.

A door that blended in with the wall opened near where Ford was sitting. Typher came running out with G behind him. Typher scanned the damage, then found Ford.

"Ford, I..." He placed a hand on Ford's shoulder. "I don't know what happened there, but it wasn't your fault. I... I must have missed something." Typher covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes distant, as though replaying past events in his head.

Ford shook his head slowly. "Don't blame yourself, Typher. It wasn't your fault." As he deactivated his shield, he lowered his head and grimaced.

"What are you saying?" Typher asked.

Ford looked past Typher at G. While G didn't have facial expressions, they could still give significant looks. G was staring at Witka, and Witka was glaring at G.

With that one exchange, everything clicked in Ford's head.

_They're rivals._

Typher followed Ford's gaze. "What is it?"

Ford stood with some difficulty, his leg screaming, then leaned in to whisper. "Witka is Mask. G's a bounty hunter as well. They're competing for the same prize—us."

Typher straightened with surprise. "Wait, what? How do you know?"

"This Witka failed a test of mine. Trust me, he's Mask. As for G... they've been keeping quiet, haven't they? They almost slipped under the radar. But think about it. Why would Mask attack them? And isn't it convenient that every time the system slipped up, it almost killed me? G was with you in that booth. They're the one that messed with the system, I'll bet."

"I... I wasn't watching G closely," Typher said. "But it makes sense. They could've..." He shook his head.

"Don't say anything for now." Ford glanced at G and Witka. "As soon as we get to the next floor, we'll find a way to leave them behind."

Typher nodded, his face tense.

Ford tried to walk forward and stumbled, but Typher caught his arm. He supported Ford's weight under his shoulder as Ford limped with him to the elevator. Ford tried not to look at Naero's body as they passed.

The straight lines of the elevator wobbled. He blinked, trying to clear the blurriness from his eyes, but it didn't help.

G and Witka joined them on the elevator, keeping their distance from each other. Ford and Typher kept to their own corner, eyeing both G and Witka closely. None of them spoke as the elevator rose.

Ford's shoulders grew tense.  _Mask didn't even try to fake Witka's grief. Maybe he thinks I'm too out of it to notice._ Ford didn't want to think about what Witka's true reaction would be.  _Witka, if you're still alive, I'm sorry._

As they kept quiet, Ford seethed with icy resentment, all of it aimed at the bounty hunters. It was likely that the only reason the two hunters weren't making a move now was because of each other. Ford didn't know what kind of fighting abilities G had, but if it kept Mask at bay, then they must have been formidable.

_Mask must've known what G was about from the beginning. The entire time, they knew what the other was after, and they tried to outplay each other. Meanwhile, Kashek, Naero, and Witka were caught in the crossfire. And all this time, I've been powerless to stop it._

It was funny, in a grim sort of way. No matter how capable he thought he was or proved himself to be, he kept getting into situations where he was powerless. In the early days with Bill, his mind slowly unraveled and he could do nothing. He couldn't fight against his own portal when Stanley pushed him through it. When the Shreep were destroyed, he could only watch. Even now, he wasn't able to keep his team safe. Despite his talents, he was still only one person, and he couldn't be everywhere or predict everything.

With the usual  _ping,_ the doors parted.

This room was circular and filled with golden light. G walked into the room without fear, and the rest of them followed. Shelves lined the circular room, and G looked at them with interest. Rows of canisters and bottles lined the shelves, all neatly stacked behind glass. The rows went from floor to ceiling; there were hundreds of items.

"We've found a medical room." G pressed his metal hands to the glass. "It seems to be combined with a challenge room."

"Welcome," said an automated voice. "This is your last challenge floor. If you complete this, victory could be yours."

"What do we need to do?" Mask said, imitating Witka's face and voice perfectly.

The voice continued. "This room is filled with poisons of all kinds—neurotoxins, hallucinogens, and more. Your task is to find the containers that have non-lethal substances and ingest them. Once this is done, the elevator doors will open."

"This shouldn't be too hard," G said. "As your medical expert, it will be my pleasure to sort through these."

Typher's eyes slid to Ford. Ford was too busy keeping upright to communicate. The effects of the venom would come in strong, then back off, hurting him and his perception of reality in waves. Ford rubbed his eyes, his thoughts blurring together.  _G is... Mask is... we need to..._

The robot walked around the room, scanning the shelves. G slid back the glass casing on one of the lowest rows and plucked out a bottle of clear liquid.

The room tilted. Ford went to one knee, breathing hard.

"Ford," Typher whispered. "Are you okay?"

"I... I..."

"Ford, give me your shield. I'll take care of this."

Ford handed Typher the bracelet. He slipped it on and glared at G. Mask watched them with interest, but said nothing.

Before Typher could take a step forward, G turned around and fixed their luminous eyes on him, then held out their working hand. Darts flew out of their fingertips, tagging Mask and Typher. They pulled the darts out of their skin and looked at G with surprise and fear.

Mask coughed and clutched his throat. He fell forward, hacking. His form rippled, growing in size. One of his limbs became larger than the other, and his eyes turned red. His skin became white, slimy, and slightly translucent. Mask's true form matched Ford's memories; he looked almost exactly like Shifty. The only difference was that Mask was missing one of his lower legs. G seemed utterly calm as he watched Mask writhe.

"You piece of—" Typher stopped mid-sentence and clutched his head. Shuddering, he turned away and coughed. Purple fluid stained his lips. He wiped it away and looked at it with bewilderment.

"It's a fast-acting poison," G said. "You'll be dead in fifteen minutes."

"Ah, well-played," Mask said. "You're a better bounty hunter than me, I must admit."

 _I was right._ Ford clenched his fists.  _Too little too late._

G continued to search the rows of substances, looking for the non-toxic ones that would open the elevator. "I apologize for Naero's death. Really, I wasn't trying to kill her. These two are the only ones I need. But then again, those three were going to expire eventually, and they'd be no use to Yaven. I'm sure he'll understand." G plucked a box that said  _Luxrene_ from the shelf. "Mask, for future reference, how did you know that I was a bounty hunter?"

"I've seen you before," Mask said. "I was hunting someone down on Tantiga at the time. You were in the same bar, hunting down a bought player who was trying to escape Yaven's team. I didn't remember you at first, but when I watched you on that first level... you were putting in the wrong answers on purpose. You kept using the same letter over and over, trying to drown us. That's when I remembered."

"I see," G said, his back turned to Mask.

With G distracted, Mask's body swelled, becoming three times its size. He grew a longer snout with sharp teeth and a muscular body. A beast that Ford had never seen before—some sort of mix between a rat and something scaly—dropped down on all fours, lashing its tail. G turned around too late. Mask, now in the form of a furry creature, clamped down on the robot with his jaws.

The robot screamed as their body was crumpled like an aluminum can. Black oil leaked from Mask's teeth. G's eyes flickered and went black. Mask dropped the robot with a hollow  _clunk,_ then returned to his original pale, slimy form. He collapsed again to the ground and shivered, coughing. Green blood mixed with purple fluid speckled the white floor.

Mask picked up the box of Luxarene. "G already found one. I think this is a laxative." He poured a bit of the powder in his mouth and gurgled. "Aghhh... that tastes terrible."

Typher hobbled over to the glass cabinets, purple dripping from his lips.

Ford came to the cabinets, his hands hitting the glass and leaving sweaty marks. He pulled back the glass on one of the eye-level shelves. Pill bottles of all sizes were crammed on the shelf, along with jars of liquid. He rifled through them, glancing at the labels. All of the labels were in an alien language.

"Ricin pellets," said a feminine voice.

Ford glanced at Typher and saw that he was using his translator. With every item he picked up, he pressed a button on his translator. The bracelet scanned the alien language, then said the word out loud.

"Sodium hydroxide."

Ford picked up a gas canister, then mimicked Typher, using his translator to scan the item. A blue light roamed up and down the alien words. "Hydrogen Cyanide," the voice said. He placed it back, then looked up at the tall stack of cabinets. His stomach sank as he realized how many options there were.

He closed the cabinet and searched the next one. While holding a bottle of hydroflouric acid, black dots clouded his vision. He dropped the bottle and it shattered on the floor. Clutching his head, he bent over and tried to blink the dots away

_Just... keep looking._

Mask was shivering on the floor. Typher was still searching through the shelves, but his movements had slowed.

Ford kept searching, this time taking to a ladder and searching the high cabinets. His head spun as he climbed. He held onto the rungs and breathed in slowly, then continued searching.

"Brodifacoum."

_No... I think that's something that causes hemorrhaging._

He scanned another bottle, this one containing pills.

"Pyridoxine."

He racked his brain, searching through his fuzzy memories. The name sounded familiar.

 _That's... a vitamin._ The realization pierced his fatigue, making him more alert.  _I found one! We're so close. Just one more to go._

It was more difficult than it should have been to open the bottle; his fingers kept twitching and slipping off the surface. When he got it open, Ford stuffed a few capsules in his mouth.

His finger muscles twitched as he climbed down the ladder. He tried to climb down faster, but slipped when he was near the bottom and fell onto his bad leg. His shoulder hit the ground, and he groaned. He stayed there, struggling for breath as his leg punished him with a flare of pain. It felt like there were hands clasped around his neck, closing off his throat.

He looked up and saw that Typher was leaning against the cabinets, his breaths coming in short gasps. Purple fluid leaked from his mouth and onto the floor.

_I have to... get up..._

Ford crawled to another ladder and searched the cabinets, throwing things aside when they weren't what he was looking for. He was moving faster now, barely waiting for the voice to finish after scanning. He worried that he'd miss the medicine because he was throwing them away so quickly, but at the same time, he couldn't stop.

"Benzaldehyde."

Ford sighed with relief as he looked at the tiny bottle of liquid in his hands.  _An aromatic aldehyde. This should be fine._

Ford descended the ladder, then fell to his hands and knees. He dragged himself to Typher, who was lying unmoving on the floor, then unscrewed the lid from the brown bottle. The smell of almonds leaked out. His eyes were glassy and vacant. He didn't even know if Typher was conscious, and he didn't have time to check. Ford poured a few drops of the liquid into his mouth.

_Please, please work._

The squeak of the elevator door opening sounded faint, as though it were coming from another room.

Mask skittered into the elevator while trailing purple fluid. Once inside, he collapsed and wheezed. Ford grabbed Typher by the arm and pulled him forward. Ford half walked, half crawled to the elevator with Typher's weight dragging behind him. He felt like he was moving through water, and no matter how he tried, he felt as though he couldn't get to his destination fast enough.

Ford wasn't aware of when he reached the elevator. It was more like his body realized that it couldn't move forward anymore and stopped on its own. He lowered himself to the floor and pressed his cheek against the smooth, cold surface, closing his eyes. He drifted into blackness.

The whirring of the elevator rising didn't feel real; it was as though it were happening to someone else. His breathing slowed to no more than a quiet trickle of air.

_I'm sorry, Stanley._

* * *

Dw wkh prphqw, Zlwnd lv zruulhg dqg frqixvhg.


	19. Get the Show On

I apologize for how long it took to get this chapter out! I'm normally really good about it, but I started up college again, and with some new responsibilities, it's harder to get chapters out. Not only that, but I had to rewrite the majority of this chapter. It's probably the longest one so far. Thank you for your patience! I'll try to get back into the regular swing of things.

* * *

A jumpy electric tune whistled faintly in Ford's ears.

Ford opened his eyes and blinked at the harsh light above him. Holding up a hand to block the intensity, he looked at his surroundings. He was lying on a cot in a room that reminded him of a doctor's office, complete with a sink and supply cabinets. The biggest difference was the high-tech machines lined against the wall. One of them had a metal arm with fingers like a spider, each finger sporting a different medical tool. There was also a chrome sphere with a keypad on the top, as well as an empty water tank.

The door to the room slid open. Ford sat up as a nurse in blue scrubs walked into the room. The nurse was human in shape, but she had a third eye on her forehead and a cow tail wagging behind her.

"Where... am I?" Ford held his forehead as he tried to remember what happened before he passed out. He could remember a pain in his leg, the medical room, G...

The nurse kept her eyes on her clip board. "You have nothing to worry about, Stanford. You're in the home stretch. Your team made it to the thirteenth floor first. Just relax and tell me if there's any swelling in your leg."

Ford looked down at his leg and moved it. He was wearing his same clothes, so he could see where the melphbeast had torn through his pant leg, but there was only untouched skin underneath the cloth. If felt just as it had when he entered the tower.

In the open doorway, a man wearing a glittery blue suit fussed with his diamond-studded tie, his face pinched in a frown. He narrowed his sharp, angular eyes at his watch.

"I need them ready to go in two minutes, Shaylee. We're already late." He smoothed over his black hair, which was gelled to perfection in a pompadour style.

"Noted, sir." Shaylee wrote something down on her clipboard. "Of course, the participants did just overcome being severely poisoned, so you'll have to be patient. We don't want them collapsing on stage."

"Fine. Do whatever you have to, but know that the audience is waiting." With that, the man left.

Shaylee rolled her eyes. She kept writing as she talked. "Your condition is stable. Do you feel any light-headedness?"

"No," Ford said with a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat, but it stung to do so.

"What about dizziness? Stiffness?"

"No and no. I'm a little thirsty, though."

Shaylee turned away and reached into the cabinets, pulling out a clear plastic cup. She ran the cup under the tap.

"Is Typher all right?" Ford asked.

"Yes, your teammates are fine."

Ford slouched against the wall, a small burden lifting from his chest. Typher was alive, and he could still bring the prize money to his family.

The relief was quickly taken from him when he remembered the ones that didn't make it. He swallowed as he remembered he recalled his promise to himself at the beginning of Homage, an invisible weight that was already pushing on his shoulders grew heavier. He covered his eyes with his hands.

 _Kashek, Naero, Witka... they're dead because of_ me.  _I failed._

He knew he couldn't have foreseen what had happened, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel that it was his responsibility. Maybe he should've seen the signs that Mask was a bounty hunter sooner. As for G... the signs were there, if he looked closely enough.

He was Stanford Pines. He'd done so many seemingly impossible things, he should've been able to stop this.

Shaylee handed the water to Ford. His throat felt like it was full of cotton, so he sipped slowly. The cold water sank into his stomach and chilled him from the inside out.

Shaylee gave him a tired smile. "If you feel well enough, they'll be expecting you out there." She tilted her head toward the door. The electronic beat continued to pulse from behind the walls. If he listened hard enough, Ford could hear people clapping and cheering. His skin prickled.

Ford slipped off of the cot. His leg felt sturdy as he put weight on it. The lack of pain momentarily distracted him from the crushing sensation in his rib cage.

"If you're ready to go, follow me." Shaylee walked toward the door.

Ford followed her down a dimly lit hallway. The tiled floors were inky black and reflected the light from the sconces spaced out along the wall. There were doors like the one Ford came from on both sides of the hall. They were rectangular and smooth, with little in the way of outward features beyond a room number printed in white.

They turned a corner and the hallway opened up into a larger room. Typher was sitting on a chair on one side, his brow furrowed. He was tapping his foot and his arms were folded. Mask was sitting in a chair beside him. He wore a new black garment that clung to his body, accenting its strange shape, and his face was still uncovered.

In the corner of the room were stairs, which led to a higher platform. Ford could hear music pulsing and a crowd cheering and whooping, all of it mixing together into chaotic noise. The thought of going in front of a large group didn't help the dread in his stomach.

"You'll be called on stage soon, so good luck." Shaylee smiled at them, then walked out of the room.

When Typher saw Ford approach, he stood up. Mask's red eyes followed them. Ford glowered at Mask and kept his distance.

Typher came forward and clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. He was wearing a clean, maroon t-shirt underneath his bulky leather jacket. Dark circles marked his eyes, but his skin at least had color to it again. "From the way the doctors were talking, I thought you weren't gonna make it. I'm glad you're not dead."

"So am I," Ford said with a smile.

"Ford, if it wasn't for you back there..." Typher shrugged. "Thank you."

Ford looked down, his smile and good humor disappearing. He couldn't maintain a smile when the teammates that they'd lost came to mind.

Typher gave Ford a reproachful glare. "Pines, don't do that."

Ford raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Beat yourself up. I can see you doing it. You couldn't have done anything, okay? You did your best. Let's finish this level and leave this place. We can put the rest behind us."

Ford flattened his lip. He could've argued that everything was indeed his fault, but it would've been pointless. Typher would only deny it. Besides, arguing over it wouldn't bring any of them back. It wouldn't ease the weight on his shoulders.

Mask was watching Ford carefully. Ford matched his gaze, grimacing.

"How did you do it?" Ford asked, his tone sharp. "How did you pretend to be Witka so well?"

"I do a lot of research on my targets," Mask rasped. "It was easy to find Yaven's retired team members, seeing as they were still on Tantiga. I have a great memory, and information on pets is one of the basic questions that I ask my informants." Mask folded his arms and gave a short laugh, closing his eyes. "She should've picked a better question."

Ford took a step forward, but Typher stopped him by pulling on his shoulder. They exchanged a look, and Typher shook his head. Mask opened one eye, relaxed despite the show of aggression. Reluctantly, Ford turned away from Mask.

Typher glanced at Mask, then spoke to Ford in a quieter tone. "Listen, after all of this is over, you should get the hell out of here. Forget what Yaven promised you. I bet he made a deal with Gunther—he'll be getting some new tech for your head. He'll try to kill you if you go anywhere near his mansion."

Ford's eyebrows pulled together. "What about you? You have a bounty on your head too."

"Me? I'm taking off. I knew people would be looking for me as soon as this was finished. After I pay off those synth dealers, my mom and I are headed to a version of Earth without the Republic—a closed dimension, if we can. Aliens do that all the time and create urban legends, but as humans, we won't stick out."

Ford nodded slowly. "Would you care to go to my dimension? You'd need a place to stay, and it would give me peace of mind if I knew you were watching my house. Bill Cipher could try to use someone else to activate my portal, and with you there, I know that wouldn't happen."

"It's a deal." Typher smiled. "What are you going to do? Is Bill Cipher still on your hit list?"

"Of course. This issue with Yaven has only made things harder on me." Ford rubbed his temple. "I  _need_ that crystal. I can't just forget it."

Typher rubbed his neck. "Okay... how about this? I'll help you get the crystal out of Yaven's place in exchange for saving my life. It's easier with a getaway ship. Ben will take my mom to your dimension instead. It'll be one last favor for you before I leave, just so we're even."

"I'd appreciate that," Ford said, a note of surprise in his voice. "Thanks."

A voice rang out, amplified by a microphone. "Now, guests of all species, please welcome this year's Homage winners!"

The crowd applauded, creating a deafening din.

Typher made his way up the stairs. Ford followed him and looked his shoulder at Mask. They exchanged a tense look, but said nothing. Ford watched him carefully, never taking his eyes off of him.

Ford shielded his eyes from the bright spotlights. The scene was overwhelming. A crowd was positioned in a staggered auditorium. They screamed and clapped for what remained of the team. All around them were glass walls with a view of the city. The lights of the neighboring skyscrapers flickered in the darkness, like distant stars, reminding Ford of just how high up he was.

There were three chairs arranged on the stage for them, all of them red and plush. Mask took the seat closest to the host, who was smiling and sitting in a chair like the ones arranged, only bigger. Typher sat next to Mask, and Ford took the last seat. The host, who happened to be the man in the sparkly suit from before, gave them a wide grin, showing off his unnaturally bright smile. The clapping and shrieking crescendoed.

"Well," the man said, quieting the audience, "what a turnout. As you all know, I'm Philoneus—"

The crowd shouted in unison. "The diamond!"

"Fletcher." He smiled, showing off his dimples. "But you can call me Phil. Now, let's not waste any time. Since you've come this far, I bet you're wondering about your prizes." Phil waved a hand, and three aliens—one gelatinous and green, one blue and furry with an underbite, and one that looked human but with an extra head—walked in from backstage. Each one held a silver wristband. The female alien with the extra head came to Ford and latched the metal bracelet onto his wrist. Before leaving, the head on the left winked at Ford. The head on the right frowned at her sister head, then swished her hair as she walked off stage.

"Don't spend it all in one place," Phil said. The audience roared and applauded.

There were monitors behind the three of them, showing whatever a hidden camera decided to focus on. Currently, it was showing a close up of their faces in turn. When the camera focused on Ford, his head was turned to look at the monitor, the back of his head visible.

"Now, I bet you're all wondering what this year's mystery prizes will be." Phil leaned forward and waited for a reply from the crowd. He was rewarded with a roaring cheer. Phil threw his head back and gave a musical laugh. "Don't worry, we have the answer for you here, folks." An orange alien with tiger stripes on their legs walked on stage carrying a notecard. Phil looked at the card, then raised his eyebrows and gaped at the audience. "Drumroll please." The audio for a drumroll started up on command. "Well, it looks like the mystery prizes for these winners will be... an infinite blip-blip dispensing gun, an infinity backpack, and an infinity-sided die."

The crowd lost its mind as the same three aliens came back on stage, this time carrying the different prizes.

"Use them wisely," Phil said. "Now as for what each one does, the blip-blip gun will dispense infinite blip-blips for your consumption at the rate of five blip-blips per second."

Mask swiped his prize and frowned. The barrel of the gun looked like a lava lamp, with a tapered glass bottle and yellow blobs floating around inside. He pulled the trigger, releasing five orange puff balls from the tip of the gun. Mask caught them in his clawed hand and glowered at them. Stuffing them in his mouth, he munched and folded his arms.

Phil continued with his explanations. "The infinity backpack transfers items of your choice to a subspace container; it can potentially hold anything and won't get any heavier."

Typher took the backpack and held it by its single strap. It was cylindrical and looked like it was made from woven metal. There was a keypad on the side, likely for retrieving items and keeping track of them.

"The infinity die is more of a wildcard: when rolled,  _anything_ can happen, and I mean anything. It's banned in over nine thousand dimensions, so watch out!"

The lady with the two heads came to Ford with a box in her hand. It was small, like a case for jewelry, and runes were engraved on the outside. She handed the box to Ford. He opened it immediately. On the inside, a glowing die sat on a velvet pillow, its sides marked with symbols that were constantly changing. Ford widened his eyes, his mouth parting with awe.  _How is that even possible?_

"Okay everyone, it's that time again," Phil said. "There's one final challenge this team must face before they can win. Since this team has made it to the thirteenth floor first, the remaining ones will be offered as—"

"Homage!" The crowd finished.

A panel in the floor slid open. A pedestal rose from the opening, a red button sitting on top.

The monitors behind them flickered. Several different images appeared on the screen, all of them depicting the remaining teams. Some were stuck in elevators, and others were stopped in the middle of their challenges. None of the teams seemed to have more than five members. In one of the elevator scenes, Ford spotted a small alien that looked like a tabby cat. She was huddled on the floor and crying while the other hairy members of her team wore solemn faces, waiting for the inevitable. In another, three tall aliens in robes were stalled on a dark calculation grid. They were huddled together cross-legged on the ground, their hands clasped as they prayed.

A jolt ran up Ford's spine. He curled his hands into fists as a stubborn, burning anger flared up inside of him.

He knew that he couldn't let innocent aliens be executed, especially not in a game that wasn't fair from the beginning. He knew he couldn't push that button.

With a sick feeling, he remembered his attitude about the rules earlier, when the game was just starting. While the prospect of executions merely for the sake of entertainment bothered him, he had chosen not to think too deeply about it for the sake of his mission.

_This isn't right. I may have failed Naero, Witka, and Kashek, but I won't fail everyone else._

_I'm done being a pawn in someone else's game._

When the screen flickered again, switching views, a thin, blue and green alien with pterodactyl wings appeared. He was huddled in a ball, shaking. Stitched up cuts marked his wings.

"Witka!" Ford watched the screen with disbelief.

Typher turned to look at the screen, his eyes widening with horror.

"Go, press the button," Phil said. "Truly win the game and claim your prizes."

"But that's our team member!" Ford pointed at Witka.

"I'm afraid that anyone who was left behind _stays_  behind," Phil said with phony sadness. He pouted. "Since he didn't make it to the last floor with the rest of you, he will be offered as homage along with the others."

Without hesitation, Mask stood up and walked toward the button.

"Wait!" Ford stood up, his hand out. "Stop! You can't do this."

Mask stopped and turned his head, his face contorted in an alien sneer. "You can't be serious."

Phil watched them with eager eyes, his hands in a triangle near his mouth.

"Ford... wait a second. Let's think about this."

"What?" Ford looked at Typher. He couldn't meet Ford's eyes at first, but he squared his shoulders and matched Ford's intense, accusing stare.

The amount of betrayal Ford felt surprised him.

"We can't kill Witka," Ford said. He tightened his grip on the infinity die box, the corners biting into his palm.

"What do you want me to do, Pines?" Typher said, his voice raising. "Do you want another team to take our place? Because that's not an option for me." He came closer to Ford, his jaw tight. "The ones that died to get us here—Kashek, Naero—it'll all be for nothing if we quit now, and Witka will die anyway."

They stared at each other, neither of them backing down. Ford's eyes narrowed.

"We can find another way," Ford said.

Typher sighed. "Another way? Like what? Ford, I have family to protect."

Phil spoke up in his smooth voice. "Well, this is—"

"Shut up, you diamond-encrusted shit!" Typher snapped. Phil paused, drawing his eyebrows together and pursing his lips. The audience gasped.

"This argument is over," Mask said. His claw was hovered over the button. Both of them froze. "I'm not dying because of your weakness. I'll make the decision if you can't. This ends now."

"No!" Ford lunged forward to stop Mask as his bulbous claw lowered towards the button. As Ford did so, the box in his hand slipped and tumbled across the ground. The die flew out of its casing, clacking against the floor and rolling to a stop inches away from Mask's feet.

The die flashed so brightly, Ford had to look away from the piercing glare. When he looked back, a bulky silhouette stood at the edge of the stage, the top of its head scraping the ceiling.

The creature lowered its head to look at the people on the stage. The lights revealed its true nature—the thing wasn't a creature at all, but a machine. The robot was shaped like a dragon, with a pointy snout and horns, as well as a pair of plated wings that flared, beating with agitation. The stage lights bounced off of the robot's smooth, silver hide. Its red eyes burned with an inner light, and it gave a grating shriek.

The audience screamed. Aliens ran from their chairs, darting for the nearest exits—a pair of doors at the back of the auditorium.

Mask rolled out of the way of the robot's claws. Slipping off the stage, he disappeared into the crowd. Phil dashed backstage, yelling for someone to call the Enforcers.

Ford scrambled to grab the die, but the robot snapped its jaws, cutting him off. It kicked the die with its claws, sending it into the crowd.

As soon as the die stopped rolling, a glowing bubble surrounded the people in the audience. Colors flashed across the bubble's surface. With a pop, the bubble and the crowd vanished. Ford blinked, unsure of what he had just witnessed.

Now that the top level was empty except for Ford, Typher, and the dragon, it moved to block the stairs, the only other exit. Its slender neck curved. It flashed its serrated teeth, ready to strike.

Typher tried to run offstage. The dragon noticed that its prey was escaping and locked its gaze onto him. Its red eyes flared. Lasers shot from the dragon's eyes, singeing the ground behind Typher as he ran. Before the laser could touch him, Typher slipped into the wings of the stage and rounded a corner.

Typher peeked his head around the corner and shouted. "Pines, come on!"

The dragon fixed its attention on Ford, its eyes winking with light. Ford ducked, narrowly missing the beam, and ran.

When Ford reached the area just beyond the stage, not daring to look over his shoulder. Judging by the booming footsteps, he was sure the silver dragon was close behind him.

Random props decorated the backstage area. It was bigger than he thought it would be, with it being closer to a small warehouse than an actual backstage. Ford saw strange things littered there as he ran. He passed by colorful creatures in cages, plastic plants that glowed and hummed, and a high-tech safe that was already opened.

At the end of the room, there was an inconspicuous door. There was no door handle, and the only way in seemed to be a keypad on the side. Typher was frantically typing in codes, but nothing was working.

Ford peered over Typher's shoulder and saw that the keypad had a slight tinge of slime on four digits. Because of Ford's different angle, he could see the sheen of the dried slime where Typher couldn't.

"Typher, wait." Ford pushed Typher aside. Typher raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Ford experimented with different combinations. Meanwhile, the dragon was tripping over the various props as it sprinted at them.

On his twelfth try, the keypad  _dinged_ , and the door slid open. Ford and Typher ran inside, and the dragon followed, sticking its head through the doorway and getting caught on its shoulders. The dragon roared, flapped its metal wings, then snapped at Ford and Typher, but they were just out of reach.

Both of them turned to see where they had ended up, and were surprised by a crowd of aliens. The aliens were spaced around the room, as though they were mingling at a party. Most of the aliens were in the center, their eyes wide as they stared at the newcomers. They resembled green beans, with an emerald color and a divide in their center. Their arms and legs were spindly, like sticks, and their eyes sat on stalks on top of their head. Many of them had wine glasses or a tray of food in their hands. One of them was frozen in the act of putting something it its sideways mouth.

Desks with computer terminals made rings around the room in a stacked fashion, with higher and lower tiers. On the computers nearest to Ford, he could see live video feeds of the other Homage teams _._

"Are these... the level designers?" Typher asked.

"Hey, you're not allowed to be in here!" one of them shouted, dropping his finger food.

The dragon growled, reminding them all that it was there. Its eyes flashed.

Ford and Typher dove for cover. Instead of a laser, the dragon opened its jaws, and a plume of fire erupted from its mouth with a bright flare. The aliens screamed and ran around in circles as they tried to find a safe spot.

With the level designers distracted, Ford ran to the nearest computer. On this computer's view, a group of robots waited for their demise, their glowing eyes staring in the dark. There was no keyboard or any visible controls. The only thing he could find were two metal plates built into the desk.

He placed his hands on the plates, then felt an odd sensation in the back of his neck.

The screen flickered, changing to a view of familiar dark tunnels. Witka was sitting on the ground, his tail curled around him as he waited for death. There was a wound that Ford hadn't seen before on the back of Witka's head—a severe bump that oozed green. The closed elevator doors were at his back.

"Witka?" Ford said.

Witka turned his head. "Stanford?" His voice was faint and gravelly. He squinted.

"Are you all right?"

"I've been better." Witka stood and fluttered his injured wings. "How are you speaking to me? There's no way it's possible unless..."

"I found the level designer's hub," Ford said. "Right now, I'm using one of their computers."

Witka's tail twitched. "What? How?"

Ford glanced at the dragon, which was snapping at the aliens with audible  _clacks._ "I had a little accident with an infinity-sided die. Witka, I don't know entirely how this works yet, but I'm going to get you out of there."

"It's Vulckanoid technology. It takes a lot of practice for another species to be focused enough to make a command. It's all mental." Witka put a finger to his temple. "You envision an outcome, and the computer makes it happen. Keep all of your mental energy on that single task."

With a few slow breaths, Ford tried to shut out the growls of the dragon and the shrieking aliens. He leaned into the screen, focusing his attention on the elevator doors. Ford could see the image of the doors parting clearly in his mind. Eventually, his surroundings and situation drifted away as he stared at the doors. They parted with a  _ping_ on his mental command.

"Wow." Witka stroked his lizard chin. "You're a natural."

He boarded the elevator with a hobble to his gait. Despite his injuries, his smile was bright as the elevator rose. "Stanford, is Naero there with you? Did she help you break in?"

Ford was suddenly glad that Witka couldn't see his face. He didn't answer right away.

Ford's pause threw Witka off guard. "Stanford? Is everything okay?"

"No." Ford sighed. "Witka... Naero didn't make it. It's my fault." Saying the words out loud cut him. The reality sunk in deeper as he listened to himself.

Witka widened his eyes, but said nothing. He blinked rapidly, then turned away from the camera. His fists clenched and he lashed his tail.

"Witka, I'm so sorry." The apology felt empty and useless, but it was the only thing he could offer. "I didn't mean for this to happen. If I could change anything—"

"Stanford, stop." Witka's voice was unnaturally quiet. "There's nothing you could've done. This isn't your fault."

"Witka, it  _is_ my fault. Mask and G were bounty hunters sent to kill me, but they ended up murdering Naero instead. She was caught in the crossfire. If I hadn't joined your team, Naero would still be alive."

Witka paused, then shook his head. "I blame the bounty hunters and the ones that sent them. I blame Yaven. I blame this planet and the depraved beings on it. Not you."

Ford wanted to reply, but he held himself back, leaving Witka to the whirring sounds of the elevator rising.

With every obstacle already disabled, Witka made short work of the next levels. Ford's attention drifted as he waited for Witka to pass through them. The Vulckanoids were cowering behind their computers in the corner of the room, far out of the dragon's reach. Black scorch marks bruised the floor all around the dragon's head. It growled and snapped at the aliens, but it couldn't reach them. Typher stood with the Vulckanoids, unable to join Ford unless he tried to run past the dragon's head. He kept his back to the wall, his body tensed.

The dragon pulled away, retracting its head from the room. The Vulckanoids watched the head recede with quiet apprehension and waited as the beast disappeared. When the head was gone, one of the braver aliens approached. It peeked into the open doorway.

A bright light appeared on the wall, a good five feet above the top of the door. The red light moved, making a clean circle around the door. The part of the wall that was cut away fell in, clattering on the floor. The alien that came to check yelped and scuttled away just as the metal dragon burst into the room through the new opening.

Ford ducked behind his computer as the dragon leaped into the center of the room. The Vulckanoids cried out and scattered, all of them running in different directions. Typher ran for the door, slipping behind the dragon as he narrowly missed its claws. The dragon roared and swiped at the computers. As it upended the machinery, wires and pieces of glass flew into the air and scattered everywhere. One of the Vulckanoids grabbed its own head and screamed as it witnessed the carnage.

Ford sprinted for the door, going unnoticed by the dragon. He met up with Typher outside the room and breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest.

Typher rested his hand on the wall and grinned. His grin turned into a chuckle, which became a deep laugh. He covered his eyes with a hand as he guffawed.

"What is it?" Ford asked.

"You broke... you broke Homage, Ford." Typher took a breath and calmed himself, but he was still smiling. "They won't ever forget this. Take  _that_ , Tantiga!"

Ford smiled at Typher and gave a short laugh. "I've never been so pleased to break something."

"Stanford? Typher?" A blue figure coming from the direction of the stage came into view. Witka spread his wings, which now only had faint lines where repaired holes used to be. When Witka saw them, he ran over, stumbling on his swollen leg. He used his wings to carry him over part of the way.

"Witka!" Typher patted Witka on the shoulder. "Glad to see you're okay!"

"I'm surprised I made it out of there alive," he said, his voice solemn. He folded his arms. "Stanford..." Witka looked up, his yellow eyes steely. "Mask and G... did they make it out? What happened to them?"

"Mask killed G on the last floor, and Mask..." Ford thought back to the colored bubble that had surrounded the audience with the infinity die's latest roll. Mask had been among the crowd that disappeared. "He's gone. I don't know where he is."

Witka forced a quick breath out his nose. "I see."

Ford frowned, then removed the credit bracelet from his wrist. Taking Witka's hand, he plopped the bracelet in his scaly palm.

Witka widened his eyes and looked at Ford with disbelief. "You're giving me your prize? But..."

"I'll be okay," Ford said. "Take the money, get off this planet. Make a better life for yourself." Ford smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Witka put the bracelet on his own wrist. He put a clawed hand on Ford's shoulder. "You have no idea how grateful I am. If there's ever anything I can do for you, all you have to do is ask. With the publicity of this Homage, I'll be easy to find." He smiled.

Typher watched the exchange with interest, holding his chin in his hand. His eyes lingered on Ford, as though reassessing him.

"Wait, you're not coming with us?" Ford asked. "We can't leave you here. You're injured."

"I'll be fine," Witka said, favoring his leg. "I'm going to stay behind and make sure that every team gets out of here first. I'll heal quickly."

"If you're sure," Ford said.

Witka nodded.

"Then let's go." Typher jerked a thumb toward the stage. "Ben agreed to show up in the  _Maverick._ He should be here any minute now."

"Take care of yourself, Witka." Ford placed a hand on Witka's shoulder.

"Goodbye, Stanford." Witka smiled faintly. "I wish you luck."

There was a roar from inside the level designer's hub. Ford, Typher, and Witka all hid behind the various objects backstage. Ford and Typher took to a slot machine that had nineteen reels rather than three. Witka crouched behind a giant stuffed animal, which resembled a lime green elephant with extra eyes and a second trunk.

The silver dragon burst through the door, screeching. Its dagger teeth caught the light, and Ford saw that they were stained with green. Vulckanoids were crawling past the dragon's feet, all of them injured in some way and bleeding green slime.

Something caught the dragon's eye, and its red gaze flashed. It walked forward, past where Ford and Typher were hiding, not seeing them. Witka snuck into the control room and waved to them, motioning for them to leave him.

Ford nodded, then glanced at the dragon. It was turned away from him so that he could see its ridged, silver hide. The dragon batted at a caged creature, as though trying to figure out what the creature was. The alien inside was purple and shaped like a beach ball, with spines covering its surface like a puffer fish. It flared the spikes as it floated like a balloon in its cage. This only interested the dragon more, and it chewed at the cage bars.

Seeing his chance, Ford fast-walked in the direction of the stage, trying to make as little noise as possible. Typher followed behind him, just as quiet. It was difficult to avoid the menagerie of strange objects littering the backstage. As he ran, Ford's foot accidentally hit a bottle of liquid. It clanged against the ground, then rolled. Ford froze and turned to the dragon. It paused and raised its head. After a few seconds of silence, the dragon continued inspecting the cage.

Typher took in a deep, slow breath and let it go, his expression pained.

They walked out onto the stage once more and looked out across the empty audience. On the horizon, dawn was just beginning to break. The silhouettes of buildings in the distance were now visible, the sky blue and pink behind them.

Typher led the way off the stage to the double doors at the back of the room. In the next room, there were five elevators, each having only the option of going down. With a look of distaste, Ford pressed a button to call one of the elevators.  _I'm never going to look at elevators the same way again, am I?_

"Listen, Ford..." Typher looked down and shuffled his feet, his hands in his pockets. "Asking you to stand aside while Mask killed Witka... it wasn't right. I'm sorry."

Ford shrugged. "You were thinking of your family. When it comes to the people who are closest to us, our judgement can be skewed. You didn't see many options, so you picked what was best for you."

"That doesn't make it okay," Typher said, his voice tight. "Ford... what you said woke me up. I've been asleep for a long time, just drifting from place to place, making money wherever and however I could. I was never very good at doing the right thing, even when I was young, but it's gotten worse. I haven't seen someone who sticks up for what's right in a long time... not since my dad, in fact." Typher lifted his head to look at Ford. "So... thanks. I needed that."

Ford folded his arms, his eyes lowering. "I don't always do the right thing, Typher... I almost didn't this time. But you're welcome."

One of the elevators came up with a  _ping_ , the doors parting. Ford and Typher stepped inside, and the doors closed behind them. Silence fell between them.

As the elevator descended, Typher smiled and looked down at the credit bracelet around his wrist. "I can't believe it." He shook his head. "I'm free."

"Free?" Ford asked.

"Yeah... I could never keep up with my mom's synth debt. I thought I was going to be working that off forever." Typher leaned against the wall of the elevator. "Being free... that's a dream I tried to give up a long time ago, but never could. I'm glad I didn't."

The elevator hit the bottom floor and the doors drew apart. This elevator had dropped them off the opposite side of the tower they entered. This side was more customer friendly, with a lobby and a gift shop. As they passed the closed gift shop, Ford peered into it. They were selling stuffed animal versions of monsters, as well as toy guns and swords. For a few famous Homage players, there were t-shirts with a face plastered on it. Ford spotted Kashek's face among many.

When they stepped out of the tower through glass doors, a magnified voice called to them from above.

"Hey fellas, d'ya need a lift?"

The hum of engines accompanied the gleam of the  _Maverick's_ hull. Ben sat in the cockpit, his wrinkled face disgruntled, giving him extra lines around his mouth. He turned the ship around and lowered the walkway.

Ford and Typher ran aboard, and the walkway closed behind them.

Ben didn't waste any time in leaving. The  _Maverick_ had already put the tower behind it by the time Ford and Typher came to the cockpit. From the cockpit window, Ford could see tiny silver ships racing in the direction of the tower.

Typher stepped back into the room before the cockpit and stood in front of the computer. "Get me a video feed of the Homage tower."

An image of a smoking skyscraper appeared. The lights in the top room flickered, then went out. Enforcer ships lowered themselves onto the roof and hovered in the air around it. A dark shape moved within the uppermost level. A spider web of fractures broke out across the glass as a red laser shot through it. With a faint roar, the mechanical dragon broke through the glass and attached itself to the nearest ship.

Typher laughed and flipped off the tower. "Haha, yes! WE BROKE HOMAGE!"

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

Yaven's mansion was quiet in the chilly night. No lights were on.

"Do you think he's inside?" Ford asked.

"I don't think so," Witka said. "He doesn't go to bed this early, and if he were around, he'd be making more of a racket."

Witka was crouched beside Ford, both of them near the belly of the invisible  _Maverick._ Witka had been right—he wasn't hard to find. Soon after the Homage fiasco, Ford had found Witka in a higher tier hotel. He had been in the middle of making preparations to leave, but upon Ford's request, Witka agreed to help him resolve one last issue.

The  _Maverick_  was parked on the higher tier with Yaven's mansion in sight. They were just far enough away that they wouldn't arouse suspicion while tucked away in an alley.

Typher forced a breath through his teeth. He was standing on the lowered walkway, his hands in his pockets. He eyed the nighttime sky and chewed his bottom lip. "Are you sure about this, Ford?" he whispered.

"Witka said his way inside won't alert anyone," Ford said. "I trust him."

"Follow me." Witka's lithe, blue form ran out in front of Ford. He was silent as he led the way to the backside of Yaven's mansion. With the light of the golden moon above them, Ford could see that Witka's wings were as smooth as they had been before. His leg and the gash on his head were also healed.

At first, Ford had felt guilty about asking Witka to help him, but there was no way around it. He needed Witka's help. He knew Yaven's mansion better than anyone else they could ask.

They passed a row of Yaven's extravagant ships, which were parked outside. They were each gaudy and bulky, as though the makers had tried to smash every luxury they could onto the interstellar vessels.

Witka came to a garage at the back of the mansion. The door was large and bronze, and a keypad sat off to the side.

"This is where he keeps all of his valuables," Witka whispered as he typed into the keypad. "I've asked one of my friends on the inside to disable the cameras. We should be okay."

"Who's your friend?" Ford asked.

"An old alien by the name of Glix. He's Yaven's personal artist. You might've seen his paintings in the entryway. We've been friends for a long time, and I figured he'd want revenge for some of the things Yaven's made him paint." Witka shuddered.

The garage door opened, sliding back. The lights flicked on, revealing a chaotic mess of strange items. It was as though everything from a normal garage had been replaced with something odd or dangerous.

Witka entered the garage first, passing a tank filled with water. A pink, fuzzy orb floated around inside. Ford lingered for a moment, watching the fuzzball move. It approached the glass and pressed against it. A single green eye opened from the center of the fur, looking at Ford. Ford stiffened and looked away.

"I'm not sure where the crystal will be," Witka said as he looked up at the rows of shelved oddities. "It might be over there." He pointed to a workbench with machine parts littered across the top. Guns of all sorts hung from the wall, organized from smallest to biggest.

While Witka inspected the shelves of items close by, Ford checked another row of shelves that was beside a glossy, black car. The car had a few dings on its hood, and it was curved inward, as though something heavy had sat on top of it. Glitter and something yellow was caught in the tire treads.

Ford looked through drawer after drawer, finding different types of plants and rocks contained their own mini enclosed habitats.

_Close, but not quite._

Ford walked past a giant purple sculpture of Yaven that was in the process of building itself. A gun on the ceiling kept up a steady stream of goop. When the goop fell and hit the statue, it rearranged itself, filling in the missing parts of Yaven's form.

Something that was glowing blue caught Ford's eye. In a glass box on a nearby shelf, a cerulean crystal that was shaped like a sea urchin pulsed with light. Ford picked up the lightweight box and examined the crystal. It matched the description that Witka gave him.

"Witka, I think I found it," Ford said, holding up the crystal.

Witka grinned. "Great. Let's get out of here."

They left the garage swiftly, and Witka stopped to close it behind them. Ford looked around the area and couldn't see anything amiss. He assumed the  _Maverick_ was still waiting in the alley, its cloaking shield on.

As Ford sprinted to the  _Maverick_ with Witka, the crystal under his arm, he couldn't help but feel that something wasn't right. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like he was being watched. He slowed his pace as he felt a chill rush through him.

"Is everything okay?" Witka asked.

Ford frowned. "Do you feel like someone's here, watching us?"

Witka's eyes traveled across the buildings. "Maybe. I don't see anything, but that doesn't mean that we're alone."

Warily, Ford approached the backside of the  _Maverick_ and rapped his fist on the invisible metal, then stepped back as the walkway lowered.

As soon as the walkway came down, he saw four figures standing inside. One of them raised a gun. Before he could react, Ford felt a sharp prick of pain in his chest. He looked down and saw a dart with a blue stabilizer on the end. Pulling it out, he felt his muscles seize up. His fingers clenched and froze, and a numbness came to his legs. Without feeling the impact, he fell backwards and hit the ground. Ford's head was turned just enough to see Witka. The young alien backed away, horrified.

"Run..." Ford whispered as the feeling faded from his lips.

Witka took flight, missing a couple of darts that would've pegged him. He flew deeper into the city, disappearing out of sight.

A large form blocked Ford's view of the golden moon. A squishy, purple face grinned at him. "I had a feeling you'd be back for the crystal," Yaven said. "Sorry that our deal had to go sour, but your head is getting me twelve of those crystals. Gunther is a generous human. Add in your friend Typher, and I'll have a new line of weapons in no time."

Ford tried to move his limbs, but they wouldn't obey his command. The crystal was still underneath his arm, pinned by his stiff muscles.

"This is Reena," another voice said. A woman with a visored helmet came into view. Two other Enforcers stood by her side. "We have Stanford Pines of dimension 47'\\."

"I'll be taking that," Yaven said. He reached for the box and tried to pull it free from Ford's rigid muscles.

A loud noise followed by a bright flash rattled a nearby building. Yaven and the Enforcers recoiled from the noise and looked in the direction of the noise. The flaming wreckage of what was once a Republic ship fell from the top of one of the buildings, its cloaking shield flickering as it went.

Another ship disengaged its cloaking shield. It was black and larger than the  _Maverick_. The mysterious ship hung in the air, then descended.

A figure wearing a black hood dropped from the ship's lowered back walkway and came onto the higher tier. They threw a silver disc into the air.

When it landed, a white cloud spewed upward, creating a smokescreen that obscured them from view. The Enforcers raised their guns, but the giant cloud of white enveloped all them. Yaven coughed as he breathed in the white vapor.

The person ran to Ford silently. From the lower half of their exposed face, Ford could see wrinkles surrounding the pinched mouth of an older woman.

With strength that surprised Ford, the woman grabbed under Ford's arms and heaved him away. The crystal was still secure under his arm as they escaped. The Enforcers were too focused on finding the newcomer in the cloud to notice Ford disappear.

The black ship came back into view, lowering beside the cloud. The Enforcers spotted Ford and the old woman as she dragged him to the lowered walkway. Raising their guns, they fired at them with more darts. The old woman expertly dodged the darts, then heaved Ford up the walkway. The Enforcers ran to them, but the walkway closed just before they could make their way up.

The old woman set Ford down on the floor of the new ship. Breathing hard, the woman removed her visor and wiped her forehead. Her gray hair clung to her face. Despite the fact that she looked at least sixty, she had the posture and muscles of a younger person.

"That could've gone better," she said. "I'm Cova, by the way. I'll be back. Commander Hansek will want to see you."

Ford wanted to shout at Cova as she left, but his jaw wouldn't cooperate.

Within minutes, an alien with high cheekbones stepped over Ford, her blue eyes half-lidded as she inspected him. Her pupils were shaped like diamonds. Like Cova, she wore all black. Her face was fish-like, with a green pattern dividing it down the middle and a bump where a human's nose would be. Ford felt vulnerable as her eyes combed him over.

"So, you're Stanford Pines," she said. "I'm Commander Hansek, leader of the Black Sun Resistance. It's good to make your acquaintance."

* * *

Diwhu zrunlqj vr kdug iru klv iuhhgrp, Wbskhu lv fdswxuhg rqfh djdlq.


	20. I Hit the Ground Runnin'

Terf waddled forward from the rubble, the girl in the white dress in his grasp. Her face was pinched with disgust and her hair was coming out of its golden bun. She cried out and struggled to break free of the alien's elastic grip. When she kicked him in the stomach, making it ripple, Terf grinned. The other library guests could only watch as Hannah pointed a gun at the girl's face.

"Okay, I know Gunther is here somewhere!" Hannah squeaked at the crowd. Her eyes were like cold black marbles, betraying no kindness. "How about we make a deal? Tell me where Gunther is within the next twenty seconds, and this girl gets to keep her head." The gun hummed in Hannah's monkey hands. Stanley looked out across the crowd, but no one made a move. All of them talked among themselves and looked around for a savior, unsure of what to do. "One. Two. Three—"

With a flash of panic, Stanley pushed to the front of the crowd. "Hey! Hannah, what's going on here?" He gestured to the rubble and the frightened guests. He tried to keep his voice from trembling. There was little he could do but stall for time while he tried to think of a solution. "Don't tell me you guys are terrorists." He gave them a nervous smile.

Hannah smirked. "Terrorism is such a nasty way of putting it. I prefer to think of this as justice."

Stanley spread his hands with his palms up. "Okay, look, I don't know what sort of vendetta you guys have here, and hey, maybe you have a reason to be angry, but nobody innocent needs to die. Just lower the gun. We can figure this out." Sweat prickled on Stanley's forehead. While he was confident in his ability to talk himself out of most situations, this was different. There was a wildness in Hannah's eyes—an injured animal that wouldn't listen to reason. The girl had gone silent in Terf's arms as she watched the proceedings. Her small frame trembled.

"Mmmmmm... no." Hannah poised a finger on the trigger with a distant expression. "This goes far deeper than you realize, Stanley. Gunther—the Republic... what they've done is unforgivable. Do you have any idea how many alien species they've wiped out? How many planets the Republic has taken?"

Stanley was silent.

"What's this? Nothing to say?" Hannah grinned. Or maybe she was baring her teeth. Stanley couldn't tell which. "All right, let's try this again. Surrender Ralph Gunther, or else!" She shoved the gun near the girl's face.

Stanley clenched his fists. A line on the side of his mouth formed as he stared Hannah down. "Y'know what? I  _do_ have something to say."

Hannah paused. "And what would that be?"

"FIND A NEW DANCER FOR YOUR SHITTY BAND!" Stanley lunged at Hannah like a panther, his hands outstretched. Hannah's jaw went slack, stunned by Stanley's thoughtless lunge.

Before he could land on Hannah's tiny frame, a hand grabbed the collar of his sequined jacket and yanked him aside.

Daran held Stanley in the air as easily as a human would a cat. He brought Stanley close to his purple blindfold. Daran raised a small gun with one of his six hands and pressed it into Stanley's jaw. Stanley flinched away as the gun purred.

"Daran, wait," Hannah said.

The gun lowered. "What? Do you not want me to kill him?"

"No, I was just thinking that it would be much more entertaining if Terf killed him instead. Watching Stanley suffocate under Terf's rear end sounds much more satisfying."

"Do I get a say in this?" Stanley asked.

Terf's belly jiggled as he laughed.

Stanley was still within inches of Daran's face. Seeing his opportunity, he tugged the paisley handkerchief off the alien's face.

Daran screamed and dropped everything he was holding; Stanley, the gun, and the tambourine fell to the ground. As Daran bent over and covered his face, Stanley got to his feet and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket.

"It stings!" Daran bumped into Hannah with his panicked movements.

Hannah smacked him away with her gun. "Why don't you just keep your eyes closed?" she barked.

"My species doesn't have eyelids! You always forget that!"

Stanley grabbed the gun and tambourine, then sprinted into the crowd.

"Amy! Amy, are you there?" he whispered urgently. The tambourine didn't respond.

The guests shrieked and scattered in different directions as Hannah fired into the crowd, providing enough confusion for Stanley to get to the front doors. He pushed on the glass, but the automatic doors refused to budge. Outside, he could see Republic Enforcers armed with guns standing outside on the steps and air vehicles hovering around the perimeter.

Stanley took a few steps back and shot at the doors with his gun, but the doors didn't react to the blast; the plasma dissipated as soon as it touched the smooth surface.

_Of course. It's not actually glass,_ Stanley thought.  _Thanks a lot, scientific advancement._

A bolt of plasma flew over his shoulder and hit the doors. Stanley swiveled to see Hannah cutting through the crowd with an animal sneer on her face.

Stanley retaliated with a few shots of his own, all of which missed, hitting the ground around Hannah.

"Dammit!"

He ran for cover, finding a nearby hallway to disappear into as Hannah's gunfire followed him.

This hallway was large and grand, just like most of the library, with a relief depicting the pyramids spanning the wall. Stanley sprinted across the polished limestone floors until he found a smaller hallway that branched off. This hallway was darker and narrower than the main one. He ran down it, passing office doors with names on them. The offices had their lights switched off, so he assumed they were empty.

Stanley picked one with the name  _Weisenheimer_ across the glass and threw it open. He shut the door behind him and stayed quiet, listening for faint footsteps with his ear pressed against the door.

His heart pounded in his ears. He rattled the tambourine as silently as he could.

"Amy," he whispered. "Amy, are you there? Wake up! Something's happened. I need your help." The tambourine stayed dead.

He ran a hand through his messy hair and ruffled his mullet, which was sticking to the back of his neck. As he did so, he caught sight of his arm and was reminded of his ridiculous jacket. "Stupid thing," he muttered. He tossed it to the ground, feeling relief as coolness soaked through him.

Stanley turned to lean against the door and jumped when he saw a figure standing in the corner.

A spindly form stood behind the office desk. It came out of the shadows, a glowing gun coming to life in its hand.

Stanley recognized the man's gray suit and black hair-it was the man that had walked in with the girl in the white dress. Now that he could see him up close, Stanley could make out his features. The man's face had a rough texture, and he looked Stanley over with dark eyes.

Stanley raised his gun.

"Stanford Pines?" the man asked. Despite his shaking hands, his tone didn't betray any weakness.

Stanley lowered his gun a fraction. "You know Ford?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Oh... you're..." He gave Stanley a grim smile. "I owe someone an apology."

"Where is he? I've been looking-"

The man raised a hand. "Spare me. I'm aware of your situation. You're 47'\ Stanley, right? My name is Ralph Gunther."

Stanley straightened with surprise. "Hey, you're the guy they're looking for."

"I'm aware. That's why I'm hiding here." Gunther lowered his gun.

Stanley lowered his gun as well. "So, since you seem to be a big deal around here, do you know how to get out of this place? I couldn't open the front doors."

"The front doors were locked? Damn." Gunther glared at the floor and clenched his jaw. "They must have hacked the system to activate the library's defenses. No one is going to be able to get in or out for the next three hours unless somebody with clearance intervenes from the inside. To make matters worse, I lost my niece. She's probably in danger."

"Does she happen to have blond hair and a white dress?"

Gunther lifted his eyes. "Yes, that's right."

"I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is I've seen her. The bad news is, the last time I saw her, she was being held hostage."

Gunther widened his eyes. "I have to get her back. I have clearance-I can get us out of here, but I'm going to need your help."

" _My_  help? What can I do?"

"I just need someone who can use a gun to watch my back. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Gunther sighed. "Just follow me." He raised his silver gun and walked past Stanley to the door. He turned the knob slowly, then opened the door a crack. After a peek, he walked into the hall and motioned for Stanley to follow.

Stanley pressed his lips together in a tight line, then stepped into the hallway after Gunther. He kept his gun raised in one hand and the tambourine clenched in the other. Stanley's gun threw an acidic green light on the reflective marble tiles.

"So, how do you know my brother?" Stanley whispered.

"Now isn't the time to talk about that," Gunther said.

"Why not? I need some answers. See, I'm trying to find him—"

"I'll answer your questions once we're not in danger," Gunther said quickly. "Until then, focus on the situation."

Stanley narrowed his eyes at Gunther.

They neared the end of the offices and peeked into the perpendicular grand hallway. The only thing watching them were the blind eyes of the statues set into the alcoves of the wall.

Gunther motioned to the right with his gun. Together, they sprinted down the hallway and entered a new wing of the library. The books lining the shelves were battered; Stanley could barely make out the titles on their spines as they passed. Each one was eroded with time and abuse. The place smelled the way only old paper could smell—like a senior's home for books. The tall shelves extended so high up, Stanley had to strain his neck to see the top.

"Uh, where are we going?" Stanley whispered.

"To the second level. We need to get to the library's computer interface. All I have to do is input a couple of commands and passwords. After that, the library should open."

They came to a set of stairs on their left. Gunther took the stairs two at a time with his long legs. Stanley had a hard time keeping up. By the time he reached the top, he was out of breath and overheating. He still had a bit of pudge from his days on the road, and he'd never had a chance to work it off. Now he was feeling those cheap, late-night burgers with every breath that burned his lungs.

At the top of the stairs sat a black door. Gunther pulled a see-through key-card out of his jacket pocket and swiped it across a sensor next to the door. The door slid open, revealing a shadowy interior.

They slipped inside. The door shut behind them just as the lights flicked on. The passageway they were in was narrow thanks to walls of computer hardware on both sides. The computer system whirred away, lights across the surface of the hardware blinking. Gunther seemed to know exactly where to go. They came to a collection of monitors deeper in the room.

With the monitors on the walls and the swivel chairs, Stanley guess that this was a security room. No guards were in sight, however. The only clue Stanley could find regarding their disappearance was a thin layer of slime on the chairs.

"Computer, power on," Gunther said. In response, the monitors clustered on the wall glowed white in unison.

"Welcome to the Library of Alexandria security system," said a woman's voice. "How can I help you?"

"Retrieve feeds from the security cameras surveying the main entrance on monitors three and four."

Stanley narrowed his eyes as two monitors flickered, showing the cavernous main entrance from a bird's eye view. The guests were now kneeling on the ground in a clump with Daran watching over them. Amanda stayed beside him, a gun at her back.

Hannah walked into the room with a fresh batch of hostages. Terf was nowhere to be seen.

Gunther's fingers reached toward a slender keyboard. He typed in commands, making white words and numbers appear on a separate screen below the view of the entrance. Stanley watched the nonsensical strings of numbers and letters appear, each character appearing without hesitation. He had no idea how Gunther knew exactly what to type.

His mind drifted to Amy. Why wasn't she responding to him? Did Hannah and the others do something to her? At the thought, his fingers tightened around the tambourine.

_If they hurt her, they're gonna pay for it._

Gunther paused. "Did you hear something?"

They both looked up at the ceiling. A white, bulging mass pushed itself from an open vent in the ceiling, looking to fall right on top of them.

Gunther jumped out of the way as the white blob fell. The two swivel chairs were knocked aside as the creature's wet belly smacked the ground. Stanley backed away and raised his gun. Terf pushed himself up with his four tentacles and grinned at Stanley, his simplistic face unnerving in the low light.

Gunther raised his weapon and shot at Terf. Terf's head sunk into his body to avoid the red blast of plasma, which hit one of the monitors instead. The monitor fizzled and went dark, now sporting a gaping, smoking hole.

Terf opened his mouth. Just as Stanley thought the widening mouth would stop, it continued to open, wider and wider until the black hole was wide enough to be swallowed into.

Terf lifted himself off of his pudgy legs with his four tentacles, then made a sucking sound as he rushed at Gunther.

With a cry of surprise, Gunther dodged out of Terf's way. Without a glance at Stanley, he tried to run to the door, shooting at Terf as he went. Red light flashed with every blast. Every shot connected with Terf's body. Wherever the plasma touched, Terf's skin hissed with steam and turned a blistered pink. Despite this, Terf continued his pursuit of Gunther through the dense room of computer systems and wires.

Before Gunther could get to the door, Terf lunged for him. There was a scream as Terf bent over and engulfed Gunther in his mouth. Gunther kicked, his screams muffled as he fought against the elastic confines of the creature. Terf rolled back on his tentacles and swallowed, transferring Ralph to his stomach.

Stanley cringed and looked away, his mind replaying what he just saw in vivid detail.

Terf's blob of a head turned to face him. Stanley raised his gun, his eyes darting to things in his environment. Terf was blocking the only exit.

_C'mon. Think of a way out. There's gotta be something here I can use._

Terf gurgled and walked toward him on his tentacle appendages faster than Stanley thought possible.

Stanley rolled out of Terf's way and ran for the door. He felt a tentacle grab his ankle and yank him backwards. Stanley's feet disappeared from under him, and his chest hit the ground with a heavy  _thud_ , knocking the breath out of him. Chancing a look behind him, he watched as Terf pulled him closer to his open mouth. Stanley raised his gun and shot into the dark pit of Terf's cavernous maw.

Terf released Stanley and choked on the plasma. With a scream, Terf rubbed his face. Steam leaked out of his mouth.

Seeing his chance, Stanley sprinted for the exit. With a growl, Terf followed, his tentacles thumping against the ground. Stanley slapped a button that was next to the door and ran through. The door closed behind Stanley just as Terf reached out to grab him. Terf pulled his tentacles away in time to avoid getting them shorn off.

Stanley kept running down the hall and entered another set of doors that had the label  _zoology wing_ above it.

"Come back here!" Terf bellowed. Stanley didn't dare to look behind him.

He ran down the narrow hall until he reached another automatic door. This door parted, revealing a catwalk with greenery down below. His footsteps pounded against the metal walkway as he ran. In this room, trees and gigantic ferns came together to form a synthetic forest.

Stanley stopped running when he saw the hide of something huge moving through the leaves. He watched the brown hide shift through the trees and caught sight of a tail. The creature poked its head out of the brush and Stanley gasped. The head of a Tyrannosaurus Rex stared at him, its yellow eyes locking in on him. The dinosaur lashed its tail and make a throaty growl.

He heard strained breathing and looked behind him. Terf was at the beginning of the catwalk, huffing and puffing, his dough face contorted with rage.

Stanley kept running down the catwalk. His chest burned and his legs ached; he couldn't remember the last time he did this much running.

When he got to the other side, Stanley turned to face Terf, sweat running down his temple.  _I can't keep running like this. But how do I stop him?_

As Terf ran forward, the catwalk shook. Stanley glanced up at the support wires keeping the catwalk above the enclosure. Aiming his gun, Stanley shot at the supports. It only took one shot to knock each one out.

Terf realized what he was doing too late. Each time a wire broke, it  _twanged_ , and the bridge shuddered. Stanley started with the wires closest to him, so by the time the first wires were destroyed, the bridge was already bowing into the enclosure. Terf clung to the catwalk. Stanley kept shooting until the catwalk fell from the ceiling. The metal walkway hit the ground, screeching as it twisted in the air and landed on top of the trees.

Terf jumped from the wreckage and came next to the foot of the T. Rex. The dinosaur eyed the alien, cocking its head like a bird would a bread crumb. The curious dinosaur let out a deep sound from its throat, like a frog croaking. Terf backed away slowly. The T. Rex exposed its teeth and growled, then moved to step on Terf.

Terf rolled out of the way, effectively keeping away from the dinosaur's prodding. The T. Rex put his nose close to the alien, but Terf shrieked at the dinosaur, which made it back away and lash its tail.

The dinosaur moved forward and opened its jaws wide, catching one of Terf's tentacles with a speed Stanley wouldn't have expected from something so big. Terf tried to break away, but the T. Rex used this as an opportunity to stomp on him. The gigantic foot squeezed Terf like a slug beneath a boot. Terf's mouth opened wide as a slime-covered Gunther came sliding out. Gunther was curled up, dazed on the fake forest floor.

"He better not be dead," Stanley muttered. He looked for a way down and saw that a tree came up reasonably high next to where he was standing. He placed the tambourine on the floor, but he found himself lingering.  _Well... it's not like she's there anyway..._ With one last look at the tambourine, he put his gun in his belt and jumped for the tree.

Stanley grabbed a large branch that was sticking out, but his weight made the branch snap. He fell hard, his feet hitting the dirt. He winced at the impact, and it took him a few moments to recover from the ungraceful fall. Getting to his feet, he stumbled over to Gunther, who was right next to the T. Rex's foot.

The T. Rex plunged its teeth deep into Terf and whipped its head back and forth as it tried to tear off a chunk of flesh that wouldn't come. Terf shrieked and wriggled his tentacles in vain as he was stretched like putty.

Stanley crawled over to Gunther and waved a hand over his face. Gunther's eyes were open, but his expression was slack as he looked through Stanley.

"Hey buddy, wake up." Stanley gave his cheek a hard smack. He looked up at the T. Rex, his heart crawling into his throat. It was distracted for now, but he had no idea when it would grow bored of Terf.

Gunther shook his head and blinked.

"Stanley?"

"Yeah, it's me. Do your legs still work?"

"Yes, I think so."

Stanley extended his hand. Gunther grabbed it. Stanley pulled him to his feet and Gunther wobbled, managing to stay upright. Stanley grabbed Gunther's arm and pulled him forward, fear making him impatient.

There was a door straight ahead under the wreckage of the bent catwalk. Stanley and Gunther went underneath it, with Stanley hitting the button to open the door. It slid open, then closed behind them once they had passed through.

Gunther rested his hand on the wall and rubbed his face. His hair was matted with slime, and his suit jacket shimmered underneath the dim hallway light.

"I feel... sleepy," Gunther slurred his words. "Ferhans... when they swallow you, they inject you... glands in their mouths. Thanks for saving me. This has been the worst peace negotiation I've ever had. I'm going to lose my job for sure."

Stanley was only half-listening to Gunther talk. His thoughts were more focused on the tambourine he had left upstairs. While it was difficult to carry around, and Amy could switch her consciousness back to the ship if needed, he felt a heavy feeling in his gut at the thought of possibly abandoning her. Besides, now that he didn't have the tambourine, there was now zero chance for Amy's help.

A high-pitched voice interrupted Stanley's thoughts.

"Ah, Stanley and Ralph Gunther. What a pleasant surprise."

Stanley and Gunther looked down the hall to where Hannah stood, her gun aimed directly at them, her teeth bared in a sharp grin.

* * *

Wkh W. Uha'v qdph lv Jhrujh.


	21. Your Brain Gets Smart

"Mmmmm!" Ford tried to shout at Commander Hansek, but his mouth wouldn't move. The most he could do was strain his throat.

"I wouldn't bother," she said. "The effects of the dart will take another five minutes or so to wear off. In the meantime, you can stay in this storage room. Cova will explain everything once you're less of a statue." Hansek turned to leave, then paused. "I'm sorry we couldn't do more for your pilot." Her footsteps grew quieter as she walked away.

_Typher..._ Ford replayed everything that happened, trying to remember each detail, looking for something he'd missed, some way he could've prevented his friend's arrest.  _It was doomed from the start. I'm not sure how the Enforcers got onboard._ Ford felt a stab of worry and guilt.  _I'm sure that Ben will take Vanessa to my dimension on his own, but who will help Typher?_

The first muscles to come back were Ford's eyelids. He squeezed them shut, wetting his dry eyes. Frustration surged through his body at not being able to move. His arms and legs were dead weight, an obstacle holding him back. He only managed to twitch his thumb before giving out, he closed his eyes.

_At least I have the crystal._ The points of the box digging into his side were both painful and reassuring.

He heard a laugh. Straining his eyes, he saw Cova standing against the wall, her arms folded.

"Hold your horses," she said. "I see you twitching over there. It'll wear off soon enough."

_Easy for you to say._

As though Cova could hear his thoughts, she continued. "I get it, you just lost a friend of yours. I knew Typher, you know. Great kid. Recognized his ship the instant we pulled in. Shame that the Enforcers got to him."

_How does she know Typher?_

Ford couldn't voice his questions, so instead he studied Cova as she leaned against the wall. Now that her face was uncovered, he could see that she was at least in her sixties. Her gray hair was tied into a long braid that came over her shoulder. Sun damage spots flecked her wrinkled face. She fiddled with her belt, her blue eyes fixed on a smoke bomb attached to her waist.

After some waiting, the rest of Ford's muscles came back all at once, relaxing from their rigid position. He stood up on wobbly legs, his head momentarily dizzy. He kept the box firmly tucked under his arm.

Cova raised her eyebrows and stopped toying with her belt. "See, wasn't so long, was it?" She walked toward a door that would lead deeper into the ship. "Follow me. I can show you where we're going and answer some questions on the way."

Going through the door, Ford walked side by side Cova as they traversed the ship. "Where do I begin? Who are you people, and how do you know Typher?"

Cova scratched her chin. "Remember that video you put on the UWC a while back? The one where you showed how the U.I.R. treats aliens they deem beneath them?"

"Of course." He could still remember the shudder of the explosion when that Republic ship dropped a lethal bomb into the Shreep's nest. He could still see the king Shreep's dead body, his fallen warriors no more than charred husks around him.

"The Black Sun Resistance is dedicated to stopping things like that from happening," Cova said. "We raise awareness and fight the Republic any way we can. Commander Hansek, the alien you met earlier, she was the one that started it all."

They passed through an empty room with dozens of lockers on the walls. Walking through a door, they entered a thin passageway.

"Listen... I'm sorry about what happened back there with Typher," Cova said. "I would've rescued him if it were possible. Back in the day, him and his dad were some of the best recruits we've ever had."

"So, they were both a part of the BSR." Ford watched a group of crew members walk past them. All of them were various types of aliens with the same black uniform. They stared at him suspiciously as he passed. "He never told me anything about this. Why did Typher leave?"

"Well, after his father was killed during a mission, he left without a goodbye. I don't know the details, and I suspect I never will. Maybe he blamed Hansek for what happened. Whatever Typher's reason was for leaving, I respect it."

They came to a large door with a symbol on it. The symbol was comprised of the letters B, S _,_ and R standing in the middle of an eclipsed sun.

Cova pressed a button near the door and revealed a room with aliens bustling back and forth, speaking in urgent voices. A row of computers sat to one side with crew members typing away. There was a navigation deck in the center, where an alien that resembled a velociraptor with large ears watched a monitor there. The alien's yellow and black-striped face leaned in close, analyzing the ship readings.

In the window, a white circle appeared against a backdrop of stars. The ship neared the portal, which grew to take up of most of the window. Its white light beckoned them closer.

"Connection with base successful," the velociraptor alien said. "Approaching portal."

The ship passed into the glowing whiteness. The light faded until they were in complete darkness.

Lights on the front of the ship came on and illuminated a smooth, concrete tunnel. The ship headed for a bright and open area.

When the ship came into the light, landing gear connected with a solid floor. The inside of a hangar was visible beyond the window. The ship shuddered and went still.

"I'll expect you all in the mess hall in two hours. Until then, you are dismissed." Hansek saluted to everyone on the command deck. The group she was conversing with disbanded. Each member of the group had a tablet, which they traded and passed around, graphs and statistics visible on their monitors.

With upbeat conversations, all of the freedom fighters filed out of the room. A few glanced at Ford with narrowed eyes as they passed by. The velociraptor alien did a double-take as he walked past Ford, his ears twitching.

One of the BSR members patted the velociraptor alien on the arm. "Something wrong, Gandhar?"

"No, no." Gandhar turned away from Ford, shaking his head. "I thought I recognized someone."

Hansek approached Ford, her hands clasped behind her back. Now that they were standing together, Ford could see how tall Hansek was compared to him. She towered at least a foot above him. "Thank you, Cova. You are dismissed."

Cova smiled and gave Hansek a nod, then followed the stream of BSR members to leave the ship.

"I'd like you to come with me," Hansek said, placing her hand on Ford's shoulder. "We have a lot to discuss."

"That's fine by me, as long as I can get out of here quickly. I have things to get to." He kept the crystal protectively under his arm, partially hidden from view. Hansek's eyes touched on the crystal. She tilted her head with curiosity.

"A liquidation crystal," she said. "I haven't seen one of those in a long time."

"It's for a project I'm working on," Ford said.

Hansek nodded and didn't press him for details. She had a knowing look, as though she already suspected that Ford was looking to build a weapon.

Ford and Hansek followed the last trickle of crew members out of the ship and down the walkway. The artificial light overhead accentuated the hollows of Hansek's cheeks. Her fish-like face was surprisingly authoritative.

This hangar had a high ceiling, and there was a sweeping insignia on the floor that resembled a silver flower. There was a circle around it with imprinted words that said  _Republic Botanical Research Center._

_They made their base in an abandoned U.I.R. research facility... interesting choice._

Like a mother goose would her fledglings, Hansek watched the BSR members as they entered a far-off elevator and left the hangar.

Hansek headed to a different elevator than the one the others used. The door slid aside automatically. Ford frowned at the elevator, then took up a space in the corner. The door closed with a creak, and as they were lifted upwards, Ford slid his hands into his pockets, shifting his feet as he listened to the familiar sound of machinery rattling.

The door opened and Hansek went first onto a walkway with grated floors. Ford was hit with a sickly-sweet smell as he came into the new area. On his righthand side, there were office doors with names printed on glass windows. On the other side was a railing, blocking them off from a greenhouse area far below. What might have once been a neat area with plants potted in rows was now a jungle. Some plants had exceeded their broken pots and grew to the ceiling. One tree in particular-a striped tree with pink leaves like palm tree fronds-was bent over against the top, now growing in a U shape. Fruit and decayed leaves covered the floor at the bottom. A creature with a beak trilled at them and flew across the room, swimming through the air, its body like a black ribbon.

At the end of the walkway, there was a door that said  _Professor Stein_ in faded letters, but it was crossed out with black marker; below it was the label  _Commander Hansek._

Hansek opened the door and stepped inside a cluttered room. Red light poured from a window on the far wall, giving the books and potted plants on her desk eerie, elongated shadows. There was a seat for Ford to take, but it was barely visible under stacks of papers and dirty plates.

Hansek took a seat on one side of the desk and Ford took the other, accidentally tipping over a stack of reports sitting next to the legs. The stack tumbled to the floor, spreading papers beneath his feet. He glanced at the titles of a few of them; they didn't seem to have anything to do with the BSR, sporting titles like  _Greenhouse Management_ and  _Northern Forest Toxicity Levels._

"Sorry about the mess," Hansek said. "I haven't been around to clean it lately. To be fair though, most of it isn't mine. This resistance started a long time ago, but this base is new to us. We had to find a new base of operations since our numbers have been growing. This is an old U.I.R. research facility that was forgotten some time ago."

Ford rested his chin on his laced hands, then scrutinized the potted plant on the desk. Its leaves were black, and it had tentacles around its base, poking out of the dirt. "You rescued me at the nick of time," he said. "How did you know that I was in trouble?"

"We happened to be listening. You're important to us, Stanford. When we found that you were playing Homage, we kept an eye on you. We happened to be watching the Enforcers just before they captured you."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Hansek smiled. All of her teeth were flat and gray. "Because you, Stanford Pines, can help us with the next step in our rebellion. You have talent, and with the reputation you've already received from your time with the Shreep, you'd be a perfect influential candidate. Everyone would know who you are.

He sat back in his seat and narrowed his eyes at Hansek. "Hang on, I didn't agree to this. I know that what the Republic is doing isn't right, but I can't stay here and help you. I have a mission of my own to accomplish."

Hansek folded her arms. "Remember your video—the one that showed the Republic's brutality on Vesta? If you could do something more to get justice for the Shreep, wouldn't you do it? Imagine all of the lives you'd be helping."

"I assure you," Ford said, his shoulders squared, "that what I'm doing is far more important. Already, I've been delayed too much."

Hansek leaned in closer, her strange, diamond-pupil eyes boring into him. "What if I promised you some time in our labs? You can work on whatever it is you need to work on here." She gestured to the crystal in his lap. "You don't have to stay with us forever. Just one mission is all we'd ask."

This made Ford pause. He glanced down at the crystal in his lap.

"I can do one better," Hansek said. "What if I told you that I know where the Republic is holding Typher?"

Ford looked up from the crystal, his eyes matching Hansek's intensity. "You know where he is?"

Hansek grinned. "Of course. Bringing down that prison is the mission we had in mind—it's the one that you're suited for, seeing as how it will take a great deal of problem solving and courage. So, Stanford Pines, will you help us?" She extended her hand. "If not for standing up to the Republic, then for Typher."

The deal seemed too good to be true. He would get time to work on the quantum destabilizer here, most likely with the help of other scientists? And not only that, but they knew where Typher was? The despair that was in him lightened at the prospect of being able to help his friend, but he couldn't help but feel a faintly suspicious, if only for the reason that he didn't know Hansek or her rebel fighters very well. Even still, he didn't know where he'd get another opportunity like this.

_Besides, I'm sure I can handle issues, should they arise._

A nasty voice answered him.  _Just like you handled Homage? Typher's dead already._

Ford ignored the voice and shook Hansek's hand, all the while trying to keep the images of Naero and Kashek's corpses from his mind.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

The tree branch beneath Ford whined as he inched closer to the tip. At the end of the branch, there was a cocoon of milky white, hardened saliva. The nest made of saliva was about as big as Ford's head and was glued to the branch that he was disturbing. Inside the hardened saliva, a fire glowed, like the light leaking through a lampshade. Despite the heat inside, the den was cool to the touch. Ford pulled out a knife and cut at the nest, shaving off bits and collecting them in a tin. The pieces gave way like bits of soap.

At the moment, the mother was away, off searching for food. Ford had already sketched her—she was a bat-like creature with jaws so wide they didn't seem to fit her body. With her scythe-shaped tail, she decapitated prey in one clean sweep. Afterwards, she would roast her prey with fire from her beak. Ford wasn't sure if the nightmarish creature already possessed a name; if it did, it was probably lost amid the old documents back at the facility. He'd already come up with his own name: the grim sweeper.

If his observations were correct, he only had a few minutes to collect his sample before she would be back to protect her young. Since the nest seemed to be fire-resistant, it would be valuable to study it in case it proved to be useful for the quantum destabilizer.

A  _pinging_  noise came from his wrist. Recently, one of the scientists at the lab had modified his translator so that it also worked as a communication device. It was a simple matter of installing a bit of software, and now others could contact him through it. He pressed a button on his bracelet.

"Stanford, come to the meeting room on the second floor immediately," Commander Hansek said. "We have something to discuss."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

His branch shook. There was a crash behind him and the sound of branches breaking. Ford swiveled around to face the noise and was met with a view of the mother's open jaws. She had rows of teeth, like a shark, and her tongue was like a black tentacle. Saliva hit him in the face as she screeched.

_She's back early!_

Ford yelped, then lost his grip. He tumbled through the air, his back hitting the ground. He wheezed, his rib cage protesting against the breath.

He got to his feet slowly, then picked up his journal. He brushed off the pages, which had been face-down in the mud, and sighed. The entry it landed on was still legible, but mud-stains would mark the pages forever.

The creature was in her nest now, shrieking at him, but she didn't attack him further.

Ford shook his head and walked in the direction of the facility.  _At least I got a small sample._

The facility poked above the black-leaved trees, its round, gray surface reflecting the constant red light of the sun. On this moon, which Ford learned was called Rifajek, the sky looked like it was in a constant state of sunset thanks to the pathetic light from the red star.

Everything there felt foreign and sinister. The trees were jagged, and every plant had black leaves to make up for the lack of light. The setting bothered his eyes. A few days had passed and he still wasn't used to the jungle of dark plants. His brain was fought against what he was seeing every time he looked around.

Ford looked up, taking in the view of the gas giant in the sky. This enormous planet was a striped orange and red, looking somewhat like Jupiter. It took up a large section of the sky, with most of it in shadow.

Ford came to the edge of the facility and walked through the door of the main greenhouse. He avoided stepping in the colorful fruit that was rotting on the floor. Creatures with black fur squeaked and avoided his step, running from the fruit and returning to it once he had walked past.

There were a few plants in the greenhouse that seemed especially odd to Ford. One of them had leaves shaped like balloons, and it glowed and hummed. Another had vines that wiggled and searched the ground for bits of fruit, once coming close to Ford's boots and recoiling. If he had more time, he would make it a point to study them, but he was currently spending most of his days in the lab.

He exited the greenhouse and entered the main part of the facility, then made his way up a flight of stairs and found a set of double doors. Pushing past them, he came to the meeting room. Four heads turned to look at him from their places around a table. He recognized Cynia, a small alien that resembled a puffball, as one of the scientists that had helped him get acquainted with the lab. Ford took a place near her. Her piercing blue fur was ridden with static electricity and stood up at odd angles. Her hand-stitched white lab coat looked as though it could fit a doll.

Hansek stood at the end of the table, her hands clasped behind her back. "Good. Now that you're here, we can start." She focused her attention on Ford. "Stanford, as you know, Typher is located in the prison on Iopedinea. I've been talking with my informants, and apparently there has been a change in wardens. This would be the best time to mount an attack. The inexperienced warden will be helpless against our plan."

Ford thought of the unfinished quantum destabilizer in the lab. There was still much to be done. While he had made great progress in the past few days, it was only a start.

_What if something happens to me while I'm rescuing Typher?_

His hand resting on the table curled into a fist.

The undermining voice in his head nipped at him with sharp, biting words.  _Don't you think it's strange that you're thinking of putting so much effort into rescuing this new friend of yours when Stanley is still adrift in space?_

His brow furrowed.  _This is different._   _I don't know where Stanley is. Typher is within my grasp, and his situation is my fault. I can't leave him behind._

_But what if something happened? Are you really going to risk the safety of the multiverse and your brother for this one person, even if he is your friend?_

Hansek watched Ford's face as though she could read the struggle happening in his head.

"I understand if you're reluctant to leave behind the quantum destabilizer," she said. "I assure you, if you succeed—and it's likely you will—we'll give you all the time, help, and resources you need in our labs to finish your project. Cynia will take good care of it while you're gone."

Ford leaned back in his chair, saying nothing, the pros, cons, and likelihoods weighing in his mind.

Hansek breathed out, suddenly looking tired. "Stanford, there's more. I probably should've told you sooner. The Gladwell Research Center is a... different... sort of prison. The prisoners are kept inside a computer simulation for most hours of the day. While in the simulation, experiments are run by an artificial intelligence. No one except Republic officers, workers, and prisoners know what the experiments are truly like. But there have been rumors."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "What sort of rumors?"

"Deaths. Prisoners losing their minds. The AI can torture its prisoners without leaving a scratch on their bodies."

Ford's mouth fell open.  _It's only been a few days. Surely he's still alive... but what are they doing to him there?_ Ford's memory threw images of medieval torture devices at him, like the brazen bull and the Catherine wheel. He shuddered inwardly. Humans in the past could be exceptionally cruel. He could only imagine what things were like in this futuristic realm with little supervision. He'd seen the Republic's brutality in the past; there was no reason to think they couldn't be ruthless now.

_I can't leave him there._

That assertion seemed to make the opposing voice quiet down, if only temporarily. A final decision came to him and he felt more at ease despite the danger.

Ford leaned forward, placing all twelve of his fingers on the table, then stared Hansek in the eye. "Do you have a plan?"

"Somewhat. This prison is heavily fortified," Hansek said. "There's an AI that manages security, and our ships would be blasted from the sky if we came close. At first we didn't know how to combat this, until Cynia presented me with an idea." She nodded to a puffball sitting beside her.

Cynia stood on the table to address the group. "My plan is to have Stanford infiltrate the facility as one of the prisoners and give the AI a virus. After that, the BSR will bombard the prison and free everyone inside."

"What do you think, Stanford?" Hansek asked, her diamond eyes combing over Ford. "Can you do it?"

Ford forced himself to relax. His fingers unclenched and his breathing slowed.  _I'll be back for the quantum destabilizer soon._ "Yes. I can."

"Excellent," Hansek said. "Cynia will take you to the lab to install the virus." She waved a hand. "You're all dismissed."

Ford left the room and followed the Cynia down the stairs. After walking for a few paces, they came to a door that was labeled as  _LAB._ Ford came in after her, and the door clicked shut behind him.

A familiar scene greeted him. Robotic parts were scattered on the floor. A fish tank sat in the corner, but instead of containing fish or water, it was full of nuts and bolts. There was a desk off to the side covered in a spaghetti of colored wires—Cynia's usual workplace.

In the corner of the room, the crystal that Ford got from Yaven was sitting on a counter. The beginnings of a gun sat beside it, with only a frame and wires in place. Pages of handwritten calculations sat beside it. The gun was far from finished, but with help from Cynia and the other scientists at the facility, it was a good start. From what the others had told him, the only thing that would kill Bill Cipher was something that would destabilize him at a quantum level. With the crystal, Ford had the beginnings of a promising weapon. His eyes lingered on it.

"Cynia, what did Hansek mean when she said  _install_ the virus?" Ford asked.

"An explanation is in order," Cynia said. She peeked around a table and found a box that fit in her palm. Opening the box, she revealed a green computer chip the size of a pea. "This is the virus. We need to install this chip in your brain. Once your mind is connected to the AI, all you have to do is interact with it."

He touched his temple. "Are you qualified to do something like that?"

"I'm not, but our medical department is," Cynia said. "Don't worry, Stanford. They've handled worse."

She turned her small body to look at the form curled up on a workbench. The alien sleeping there was thin, with blue and black stripes covering his scaled body. Ford knew him as Gleckna.

"Gleckna, wake up!" Cynia hissed.

Gleckna jumped, then covered his eyes. Turning his head, he blinked at Ford with black eyes. He yawned and stood up from the workbench, scratching a crest of white fur on top of his head. Buttoning together his disheveled and stained lab coat, his eyes fixed on the virus.

"Is it time?" he asked.

"Yes," Cynia said. "Go get the others from the medical wing. This shouldn't take long."

"How soon will I recover?" Ford said. Although he kept an air of calm, his palms were sweating.

"With some time in a healing pod, you'll be fully recovered in ten hours," Cynia said.

_Am I really going to do this?_

Ford thought of Typher stuck in prison, alone, crying out with pain and writhing as the AI tortured him. Could he forgive himself if he walked away, leaving Typher to that fate, knowing full well that it was Ford's fault?

_No, I don't think I could. I have to try._

Gleckna left the room and was back within minutes with two more aliens in tow. One of them was a centaur-like creature, with four legs on the ground and a torso with arms. The centaur had a pair of horns with a surgical mask hooked between them. The other alien was green, gelatinous, and had six pairs of arms. The new aliens were pulling a cot on wheels behind them.

"Mr. Pines, I'd like you to meet the best surgeons in the Resistance." Gleckna gestured to the surgeons. "This is Balzar." He motioned toward the centaur, "and his pal, Guynon." The green alien made noises that sounded like bubbles popping.

"Nice to meet you," Ford said.

Gleckna rubbed his clawed hands together. "Mr. Pines, please lie down on this cot." Gleckna gestured towards the cot.

Ford rested his back on the padding, which was surprisingly soft. He rested his hands on his stomach and twiddled his thumbs with nervous energy. The aliens peered over him, their heads blocking out the intense overhead light.

"We'll be done soon, Mr. Pines," Balzar grumbled in a gravelly voice. "We're going to inject you with a serum that will knock you out. When you wake up, the procedure will be complete."

Guynon raised a syringe, which was filled with a deep red liquid that resembled cherry syrup.

At the sight of the needle, his heart rate picked up without his consent.  _No, relax._   _Just breathe. Concentrate on what you have to do. It'll all be over soon._

He closed his eyes as Guynon pierced his arm with the needle. He winced, but the pain quickly faded. As Ford drifted off, the voices of the surgeons became muffled and indistinct. He suddenly wasn't worried about the surgery. Even if complications arose, they were a future Ford's problem now.

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Ford groaned and squeezed his eyes tight. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting the dryness. His fuzzy mind collected itself, slowly rising to the surface of consciousness. He felt like he was underwater, with something unseen filling his ears and muffling the ambience of the room he was in.

Opening his eyes, he found that he was in a darkened room. There was a single lamp standing in the corner, giving off soft light. Glancing around him, Ford saw that he was in what looked like a hospital room. A sink sat on the far wall beside tools that were attached to the wall. On his right, there was a window with curtains drawn. Red light slipped through the curtains onto the tile floor.

"Hey, Stanford, are you awake?" a voice whispered in his ear.

"Eyah!" Ford jerked away and immediately regretted it. He gripped his head as it spun and looked at Cynia, who had shied away from his sudden shout, her fur fluffed out. "Er, Sorry," he said.

"T-that's okay." Cynia gave her fur a shake, settling it. "I'm glad to see you're doing well."

Ford felt the right side of his head. There was a white bandage the size of his palm there. They had shaved his hair where the surgery was; he would probably have a rectangle on his head for a month or so.

He sat up. The grogginess was like a haze in his head.

"They put extra painkillers in your system," Cynia said. "You shouldn't feel any pain. As far as I can tell, the surgery was a success. I've tested this technology before, but not on a human. I just hope..." Cynia trailed off. She bit her fingers.

"Cynia," Ford said gently, "I'm sure it'll work fine. You made it, after all."

Cynia dropped her stubby hand and smiled at Ford, her mouth barely visible under all of her fur.

"Oh, and another thing," Cynia said, "I told the surgeons that you were looking to fight Bill Cipher, and they thought it would be a good idea to install a metal plate in your head to combat his powers. That should stop him from controlling your mind should you ever run into him."

Ford blinked at Cynia. "They... installed a metal plate... in my head?" He knew he should've been saying thank you. Ford had been concerned about the issue, seeing as how his past deal with Bill made him vulnerable to his control. Still, he couldn't shake the sense of violation.

"Is it a problem?" The adorable puffball tugged at her fur with her tiny hands. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it."

"No... it's just..." Ford sighed and smiled at the blue puffball. "Thank you for doing that. Are you sure it will work?"

"Certain," she said.

Ford's fingers traced the rectangle of bandage. It was hard for him to believe that under his fingers was a metal plate.

"I'll go report to Commander Hansek," Cynia said. "She'll want to know that you're awake. Rest up. We'll bring you to a healing pod shortly."

Cynia hopped off the chair beside Ford's bed and skittered over to the door. She slipped through the automatic door, leaving him there alone.

Ford thought about getting up, but he was suddenly overcome by a wave of lethargy. Laying his head deeper into his padded cot, he filled his mind with plans for the future.  _If the best-case scenario happens, and I rescue Typher and complete the gun early here, then maybe I can find Stanley._

The idea brought with it an image of their reunion. He imagined meeting Stanley, dirty and battered from traveling in the multiverse. After being frightened and alone, Ford would return and take him back to the realm of the familiar. And after that... well, they'd likely part ways again. Stanley hadn't changed much since their time in high school. There was no reason to think that he wasn't still the selfish person he'd been then. Their fight over the journal had proven that.

_I'll set all of this right. Everyone just has to hold on for a little longer._

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Off to the side of the docking area, a ship stood proud and tall despite how small and beat down it was. Ford stood beside the ship, looking at its poor condition, his hands on his hips. The outside wasn't as sleek as the other ships; it was like comparing a minivan to a lot filled with sports cars. It had a battered white paint job with a red stripe down its side, and a name on the tip that read  _Supernova._

After some time in one of the many healing pods in the medical wing, Ford felt just as he had when he came, if not better. Now that he had recovered, it was time to stare down the next phase of the plan: infiltration.

A few others were there as well, wishing him luck. Cova stood among the small crowd, her arms folded and her face neutral. If she was worried for him, he couldn't tell. Everyone else seemed either excited or nervous. Gleckna was grinning broadly and kneading his hands with eagerness. Cynia, on the other hand, was fidgeting and pulling at her fur.

"I'm sorry about the ship," Commander Hansek said beside him. "It's the only thing we can afford to lose. Be careful not to bump it too much. It's just barely passable for interstellar flight."

"It's no trouble," Ford said. "I'll make it work."

"Good luck!" Gleckna called out.

Ford walked to the keypad on the back of the ship and input the correct code on the clunky interface. The keypad made a happy electronic jingle and a door in the back unlocked. Ford walked into the cool interior of the ship. Lazy artificial lights flickered on.

"Welcome Captain," a woman's automated voice said.

The inside of the ship was cramped, with crushed cans littering the walk-in lounge area. The smell of old food hung in the air. There was a thin box of something that looked like purple ham sitting on the floor in the center of the room. Something black and fuzzy sat in the box. When Ford walked in, it scurried to somewhere more obscure, no more than a blur of movement.

Ford wrinkled his nose as he stepped over the box and entered the cockpit. There was a film of dirt on the white upholstery. Ford brushed the dirt away as best he could and sat down in the pilot seat. The console was filled with buttons, and half of the labels were scraped off. He didn't dare to touch anything.

"Computer?" he said tentatively.

"Yes?" The computer answered.

"Can you switch this ship into autopilot? I need to get off the planet."

"Affirmative. Beginning take-off."

Ford breathed a sigh of relief as the ship roared to life. Its frame shook more than the  _Maverick's_ as it lifted into the air, moving itself to the open tunnel. The ship darted into the tunnel and gathered speed, zooming out over trees and heading skyward into the open dark blue. Stars winked at Ford from beyond the atmosphere.

"Computer, take me to the nearest Republic territory with a lot of Enforcer activity."

"Understood. Navigating to Republic sector zero-zero-nine."

_I hope this works._ Ford sat back in his seat, trying to relax despite how tense he felt.

In the distance, he could see a faint pink cloud. He squinted and realized that the thing in the distance was a nebula. He couldn't tell exactly how large it was, but from this distance, he could see its entirety. Bright stars glittered like gems from within.

_Wow... it's one thing to see them in a textbook, but to see this much of space in person... it's almost unfair. I know a few astronomers back home that would kill for this view._

Just as Ford was getting used to the stars, they turned blue. Although Ford had seen Typher used FTL travel once before, he still wasn't prepared for the stars to stretch and squish. He gripped his seat and flinched away from the window.

Within minutes, the ship stopped. The nebula was closer, taking up most of his view.

Ford waited.

A voice crackled on the ship's intercom. "This is the Republic enforcing squadron of sector zero-zero-nine. Your intergalactic travel registration is out of date. Please stall your ship so that we can scan it and everything inside."

_That was fast._ "Computer, stall the ship."

"Understood."

The ship slowed, coming to a stop.

"Holy—" the intercom crackled. It came back on, and this time the voice was hesitant. "S-Stanford Pines, you are under arrest for crimes against the U.I.R. and... and an out of date intergalactic travel registration."

_Here we go._

* * *

Irug grhvq'w nqrz zkdw nlqg ri phvv kh'v jrwwhq klpvhoi lqwr. 


	22. Your Head Gets Dumb

Hey! I'm not dead! Surprise! Yeah... I just finished my classes for the semester. I'll be extremely busy next semester, but until then, I'm going to put out as many chapters as I can. Welp, without further ado, here's the next installment!

* * *

 

The  _Supernova_ hit the ground with a jolt when the Enforcer turned off his gravity beam. The landing gear  _whapped_ against the ground. A few alarms went off, but the ship stayed intact. Ford released his fingers from the control wheel, Hansek's warning about the unstable ship echoing in his ears.

Breathing out, Ford looked across the landscape of Iopedinea. The ground was charred and black, warping and folding like dark waves. With the blood-red lava spraying up in random places all across the landscape, the place had a feeling of deadness. Steam rolled off of the wounds of the planet, mixing with the clouds in the sky. Snaking red lines of lava streamed from a smoking volcano a few miles off.

The Enforcer had placed Ford's ship on a landing pad with some other ships, all of them different. There appeared to be nothing blocking the landing pad from the rest of the world, but Ford noticed that ashy flakes falling from the gray sky parted around the landing pad and collected on the sides, as though an invisible dome covered them. Among the ships, Ford spotted the  _Maverick_ quickly; its dull silver hull and triangle shape were ingrained in Ford's memory.

The Enforcer's silver ship landed beside Ford's.

"You'll be escorted from your ship shortly," the Enforcer said on Ford's intercom.

The man scurried from his ship. He was thin, and younger than Ford expected. His face was pointed like a V, and his arms and legs were thin twigs. The Enforcer met with the two guards that were stationed on the landing pad, then pointed to Ford's ship. He tapped his leg as he spoke.

The guards approached Ford's ship, guns in hand while Ford waited. Ford assumed they overrode the keypad when he heard the hatch open.

The two guards, dressed in black and gold gear, stepped into the ship, their weapons in hand. Ford couldn't determine much about them with their faces hidden behind their visors.

"Stanford Pines, come with us."

"Don't you have trials?" Ford didn't mean the question seriously. From what he had been able to guess during the brief flight to Iopedinea, this place was the sort where powerful politicians like Gunther sent people when they caused too much trouble. The planet was far beyond the reach of Republic territory, according to the  _Supernova's_ computer. With it being hidden, obscure, and protected, it was unlikely that an outsider would stumble upon it.

The guards didn't answer him, confirming his hypothesis.

Ford got up from his seat and held up his hands in surrender. One of the guards came forward and handcuffed his wrists behind him with something that felt like an unbreakable slap bracelet.

They marched him from the ship and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotten eggs.

_That sulfur dioxide gives off quite the stench. This must be a nice place to work._

An imposing facility sprawled across the plateau ahead of Ford. A tower rose up from the center of the large facility, smooth and ambiguous. The rest of it was gray and boxy, with glass windows covering the front face.

When they came close to the prison, it loomed over them, swallowing them in its shadow. There was a gold plaque above the doors that read,  _THE VIRTUE OF THE SOUL IS JUSTICE._

 _How ironic_ , Ford thought.  _I doubt the creators knew what this place would be when they built it._

The glass doors automatically slid away, letting them walk into the quiet interior. The Republic insignia marked the center of the floor, with a map of a few unfamiliar constellations in gold spanning the marble around it. An assistant sat at the front desk, doodling away on the backside of an old report. The name  _Candice_ was printed on her name tag. When one of the guards coughed, she jumped. Candice tucked the doodle of an alien animal away.

"I didn't know we were getting a new prisoner," she said.

"We weren't planning on it," one guard said. "We were looking for this one, and he put himself on our doorstep."

"I'll go get the Warden." The assistant got up from her seat and entered the door behind her. She came back with another woman, this one in a gray uniform. Her frigid blue eyes scanned Ford. Wrinkles and scars were carved into her face. If she was the new warden, she didn't look new. It seemed as though she'd had this job all her life.

"Stanford Pines." She gave a cold smile. "I'm Lynn Avery, the warden of this place. I've already read the arrest report. It seems that you were tripped up by an out-of-date registration. Not what I expected, given your reputation."

Ford didn't respond. He matched her intense stare.

She frowned, her eyes flashing, then came forward with a metal circle in her hands. She opened it, then closed it around Ford's neck. Ford wiggled his neck, getting a feel for the limited space. He swallowed; his throat pressed against the cool surface.

"Pat him down and move him to cell five-hundred and three," Avery said.

The guards searched his pockets, but found nothing.

"Get a move on." A guard shoved him. Ford stumbled forward and grimaced.

They came to a large, imposing door. The guards opened it by swiping their wrist across a scanner. The door parted in the middle, revealing deeper into the research center.

Ford walked onto a catwalk and peeked over the railing to the floor hundreds of feet below. The chamber was circular, and at the very bottom sat a heap of complex machinery and blinking lights. In the center of the floor was a floating chrome cube. Wires snaked from the cube, feeding into the machinery.

"What's that?" Ford asked.

"That's Archer, the AI that runs this place," the guard on his left replied. "He's the real warden. You'll get acquainted with him soon enough."

The catwalk wrapped around the circular chamber and spiraled up and down the perimeter. Hundreds of doors were set into the wall along the walkway. Each had a number printed on it.

They went down two flights of stairs and came to cell five-hundred and three. One of the guards swiped his wrist on the scanner on the front of the door. The door hissed as it moved aside.

The interior of the cell was more like a healing pod; it housed only a seat with an intricate wiring system running from the arms and headrest. The seat reminded Ford vaguely of an electric chair.

Ford sat down in the chair with apprehension boiling in his stomach. The guards uncuffed him, then latched down the restraints. Ford's wrists, upper arms, legs, and head were locked in by metal restraints when they were finished. They stepped out, and the door shut, leaving him in darkness save for a tiny window.

Ford's chest constricted. The band across his forehead was cool, and when he tried to turn his head, he found that the restraint kept him from doing so. He tried to relax his muscles, then breathed in deeply, closing his eyes.

_It's okay, stay calm. This is all part of the plan._

Something pinched his arms. He squirmed in his seat and opened his eyes, but could see nothing. His heart rate picked up.

Ford heard something whir next to his ears. Before he could guess at what it was, his attention drifted. His eyelids drooped.

A bright light stabbed at Ford's eyelids, giving him a start. He squeezed them tighter, then opened them slightly, letting the light leak through his eyelashes. The light warmed his face. It was as though the sun had made an appearance in his cell.

Opening his eyes completely, he saw that he wasn't in his cell at all. He was lying on his back and looking up at blue sky; the sun beamed down at him.

He sat up from his horizontal position and looked around, feeling a wave of nausea and disorientation as his mind tried to reconcile the impossibility before him. Frothy waves lapped up against a powdered shore. He dug his fingers into the warm sand and watched it trickle through his fingers. As the sun beat down on Ford, the briny smell of the ocean brought back memories of splinters, sunburns, and good company.

 _This simulation is remarkable._ Ford looked closely at the individual grains of sand on his palm. _I can't find a flaw._

"Ford? Hey, Ford!"

Ford turned his head at the familiar voice, but could see no one. There was only the jungle beyond the beach.

"Typher?" Ford asked.

There was a cracking sound from the thin trees as they were pushed aside by two human hands. Typher's head appeared from the green. He escaping from the foliage, he hurried to Ford. He was wearing a dark blue close-fitting jumpsuit that had a number on the left side of his chest. Ford looked down and found that he was wearing something similar, with the only difference being his number: five-hundred and three.

Typher approached Ford helped him up from the sand. His hand felt as real as it would outside the simulator—calloused and warm. Typher frowned at him. "Ford, what are you doing here? I thought you got away. How did you get arrested?"

"I wasn't arrested—at least, not initially. I came to find you."

"You... what?" Typher took a step back and looked at Ford's face, as though waiting for a joke. When he realized that Ford was serious, Typher's eyes widened. "You got yourself arrested... to find me?"

Ford nodded, as though to say  _of course_. "What happened on Tantiga was my fault. I wanted to help you, but I didn't know how."

"That's..." Typher held back a smile and shook his head at the sand. "You shouldn't have done that." His suppressed smile waned. He looked up at Ford, the reality of their situation making itself clear in his eyes. "Ford, what were you thinking? There's no way out of this place."

Ford smiled. "You didn't think I'd come in here without an escape plan, did you?"

Typher said nothing and raised his eyebrows.

"Typher, I was rescued by a group called the Black Sun Resistance—they said that you used to work for them. They told me where you were. The Resistance and I are working together to free everyone in this prison."

Typher's mouth developed a hard edge.

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?

Before Typher could reply, more prisoners streamed from the jungle. They were all aliens, some large and some small, and they all wore the prison uniform.

"Typher, who's this chump?" a large alien with tusks said. The alien's forehead was lumpy, and tiny hairs sprouted from the otherwise bald surface. He pointed to Ford with a bulging arm, his finger nearly touching Ford's nose.

"A friend, Ciamo," Typher said. "He'll be joining us."

"I'm Stanford Pines," Ford said to the crowd that was gathering in a semi-circle around them. At hearing his name, the aliens whispered among themselves.

"I don't know about this."

"Maybe it's one of Archer's tricks."

"We should punch him, just to be sure he's real."

"Everyone, quiet!" Typher said. The aliens stopped mid-conversation. "Ford's a prisoner like the rest of us. There will be no punching. End of story. Now let's move. We've got a lot of ground to cover if we want to outrun those ants."

Typher broke into a jog ahead of Ford, turning up sand. The aliens followed him.

Ford weaved through the aliens and matched Typher's pace. "Ants?"

"Yeah. Big ones." Typher held his hands up a few feet apart. "They'll kill you if they catch you."

"But... we're in a simulation. How could they kill us?"

Typher sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, well I guess if one gets you, you won't  _die_ , per se. It's more like going unconscious. But the consequences of 'dying' aren't pleasant, believe me. We can still feel pain perfectly, and Archer takes full advantage of that."

_Nothing has happened so far with the virus in my head—at least, nothing I can see. Maybe I have to interact with Archer directly somehow._

"So, you've met this AI?" Ford asked.

"We meet with him whenever we die," Typher said. There were a few beats before Typher continued. "That AI is sick. I've never seen one like it. It's like it  _enjoys_ our pain."

Ford remembered what Hansek had said about the AI.  _Deaths. Prisoners losing their minds. The AI can torture its prisoners without leaving a scratch on their bodies._ Unfortunately, it looked as though Ford would have to "die" to get a meeting with this AI. He shivered inwardly at the prospect.

Ford turned to look at the group behind them. Ten or so aliens trailed them up a sandy hill. "Where are all the other prisoners? I saw thousands of cells when I came in here."

"Don't know," Typher said. "I think Archer runs multiple tests with different groups of prisoners. I've only seen the same group of aliens since I got here."

They kept running, no ants in sight. Typher kept checking the jungle, but nothing appeared.

Up ahead, there was a group of dark rocks jutting out of the sand. As they ran toward them, a blue light flashed on top of the rocks. Ford squinted at the mysterious light and slowed, cautious to go near it. Typher knew exactly what it was, however, and ran straight to it, grabbing something from the light.

Typher turned to the group with an armful of guns, all of them a different make and color. He regarded the six guns, his face grim. "It looks like that asshole wants us to fight," he said to the group. "There's only enough guns for about half of us. I want Jagnar, Hyda, and Sadin to have a gun." Typher tossed the guns to the respective aliens. They caught them easily, as though expecting that Typher would pick them. "Oh, and Narv can have one too." A short, blue alien with legs like an elephant ran forward, grinning as he took a silver gun from Typher. "As for the other two, those are going to Ford and yours truly."

The aliens in the group grumbled as Ford was named, but a glare from Typher silenced them. Typher handed Ford a black gun. The group of aliens eyed him as he turned the weapon on, but Ford ignored the hostile expressions. A purple strip lit up on the side.

One of the aliens—a yellow one with bumpy skin, an eyepatch, and four elephant-like ears—came forward, a panicked look on his face. "They're coming," he rasped, barely above a whisper. "I can hear them!"

"Thank you, Jarmel," Typher said, putting a hand on the alien's shoulder. He looked back at the group, his eyes hard. "We need to keep moving. Come on!"

As they ran across the sand, Ford tried to listen for what Jarmel heard, but could hear nothing.

He watched the water roll in from the ocean and touch his black shoes. When it pulled itself away, it left the sand darker and wetter. Ford wondered what other types of scenarios the group had been thrown into. He wondered how many times they had died.

Ford's ears picked up on a pitter-patter coming from the direction of the jungle. Typher turned his head and stopped in his tracks. The rest of the group stopped as well, waiting with apprehension for Typher's command.

"We can't outrun them," Typher said. "We'll have to make our stand here."

The aliens without guns hid behind the ones that did. Ford and Typher joined them, taking the front. Beside Ford, Narv swallowed and shifted nervously.

With a crash, a group of six-foot long ants busted through the thicket. Ford shot at the first few ants, but there were more to take their place. The others killed with him, and the ants began to pile up. Just when Ford thought they would begin to trickle off, there would be a surge that would get farther than the last group.

There was a rumble. The group paused in their shooting and watched, each one of them rigid, their gun tips smoking.

Ants poured from the jungle in a wave of red. The enlarged ants quickly swarmed the beach, their pincers snapping. It was now impossible to keep up with them. Narv started shaking and took a few steps back, whimpering. Typher's face was a mask of cold rage; he kept shooting at the ants, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

Ford continued shooting with him. The others kept looking at Typher, waiting for another plan.

As Ford shot at the ants, he knew that there wouldn't be a way out for any of them beyond swimming into the ocean. While Ford knew that he would have to die this round, he wished that he could find some way out for his comrades.

"I'm not gonna stay here and die!" Ciamo said behind them. The rest of the group agreed, following Ciamo into the water.

"Dammit," Typher hissed. He fired as he backed away from the ants. The rest of the gun wielders did likewise.

The ocean waves rushed up the beach, touching the heels of Ford's shoes and pulling at the sand around them. The ants tried to get at them from all sides, unrelenting in their pursuit. They pushed the group farther into the water.

Water rushed onto the beach again, and this time it was to Ford's knees. His finger was cramping from pulling the trigger. There didn't seem to be an end to the ants in sight; the red and black bodies kept flooding from the jungle, covering the beach as they closed in on their small patch of sand.

They receded even more into the water. Ford was now up to his waist in the salty brine.

The ants didn't seem too keen on jumping into the ocean. They twitched their antennae at the water and climbed over each other, but they never came closer than a few feet past the edge of the wet sand.

Ford breathed out with relief and lowered his gun. The others lowered their weapons as well.

"Wait," Typher's eyes searched the ocean, "where did everyone else go?"

The rest of the group had vanished. There were only ocean waves rolling in as far as Ford could see.

"Maybe they ran farther up the beach," Narv said.

Something brushed Ford's leg under the water. He jumped and backed away.

"What is it?" Typher asked.

"Something touched my leg!"

Narv screamed. His scream was cut off as he disappeared beneath the waves. Bubbles rose up where he once was. The group stood in silent shock.

"Everyone, get closer to the shore—" Typher was cut off by the yelp of another alien as it was dragged beneath the water. The green and pink-furred alien burst up, fighting to get away, but a tentacle reached out and grabbed its neck, pulling it under.

The remaining survivors sloshed through the water toward the beach and closer to the wall of ants.

Another group member was grabbed by the tentacled monster. This time, Typher ran forward, grabbing the alien by its blue webbed hands. The alien screamed as the tentacle tried to tug it away. Ford shot the tentacle at its base. With a screech, the tentacle slipped underneath the water, steam rising.

They watched the water for any sign of movement. There was a flicker on Ford's left. He shot the water, creating steam and a flurry of bubbles. The tentacle then rose behind Typher.

"Typher, look out!" Ford shouted. He shot at the tentacle and missed.

Typher turned too late. The tentacle grabbed him by the neck and pulled him backwards. He tried to shoot at the tentacle, but another rose up and slapped it from his hands. Typher fell to his knees as he tried to pull at the slimy tentacle in vain. Ford fired again, but the tentacle pulled away deeper into the ocean. Typher went under, his head barely above the water. Ford rushed forward and grabbed his hand.

"Ford..." Typher choked out.

His hand slipped from Ford's grasp. With a violent splash, Typher was taken beneath the waves.

"Typher!" Ford ran forward and searched for any sign of him in the shifting water. He could see nothing.

As he glanced around, he noticed that the other two aliens were gone. Ford was alone.

A tentacle sprung from the water and grabbed Ford around his neck, squeezing him. He gasped.

His first instinct was to fight the tentacle. It took everything in him to let the cold and slimy skin bruise his neck.

The monster yanked him to his knees and he let it. His face was inches from the water as he tried to suck in breath. His lungs burned. Black was creeping into his vision when the tentacle decided to drag him underwater.

The cold water ate him alive.

 

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Ford sat up gasping and curled his hands into fists. He took in air as though he couldn't get enough of it and clutched his chest.

 _That felt like a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare—it felt like reality._ Ford touched his neck, the feeling of the tentacle constricting his neck fresh in his mind. He swallowed.

When his breathing settled, he stood up and glanced around. He was no longer on the beach; instead, a dark sky and an endless horizon greeted him. The ground was tiled, smooth and black. Blue light shined through the lines of the tiles, providing the only source of light.

"Oh, good. You're finally awake," a man's voice said. The words echoed in the spacious room.

Ford watched the darkness warily.

"I'm Archer, but you already know that. I already know who you are too-you're Stanford Pines. Or Ford, to your friends." Archer's voice had the tinge of an English accent with a calm and detached tone.

A floating cube appeared in the air in front of Ford. It was shiny and black like obsidian. The surface closer to Ford came within inches of his nose. Ford's face was reflected back at him. Somehow, the floating cube felt somewhat sinister. There was something ominous about it and the way it stared at Ford, observing him.

"So, what now?" Ford asked.

"That's a good question, Poindexter." The four blue dots lit up on the front face of the cube and pulsed with every syllable.

Ford glared at the cube. "Don't call me that."

"You're in no position to be ordering me around,  _Poindexter_."

Ford grimaced and looked at the ground. He wasn't sure what he expected from a sadistic AI, but it wasn't this. He just hoped that if he kept interacting with Archer, he would touch on the virus in his mind.

The cube watched him, silent. "Intelligent," Archer remarked. "It's funny, I've found that it's the intelligent ones that break first."

Ford's response was automatic. "You're not going to break me."

Archer laughed. "Ford, you don't know what I can do. Your mind is mine, now. For example, if I tell your brain that your leg is broken—"

With a gasp, Ford fell to the ground and clutched his left leg. The leg would no longer hold his weight, as though it had suddenly given up. It spasmed, tingling with pain that raced from his knee down to his toes. He grunted, taking in deep breaths as he moved into a fetal position.

"—well, it can't tell the difference between me and the real thing, can it? Breaking you will be easy. The question is, how will I do it?"

Ford pressed his teeth together, the color draining from his face.

"This is what will happen when you die in my tests. You'll come here, and then we'll have fun together, just you and me. I—" Archer broke off.

There was a long pause.

The pain in Ford's leg vanished.

"You..." Archer said, "Something's wrong. I can see it in your mind—something synthetic that shouldn't be there. A virus." The dots flashed. "Clever, but it won't work. I know just what to do with you." The light from the floor disappeared, leaving him in total darkness. "Goodbye, Ford."

 

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Ford sat up on his cot with a pounding headache. He gripped his head and breathed out through his nose, trying to remember what happened the night before. Judging from his surroundings, he was still in the BSR headquarters. Cots lined the walls, but they were all empty. He must have overslept.

_I feel like there's something important I should be doing..._

The image of the quantum destabilizer came to mind. With a small gasp, everything from last night came flooding back to him. With Cynia's help, it was finished. Had it not been for her supply of Fisquan batteries, he might never have completed it, but now... now he was ready to face Bill Cipher. All the gun needed was a test run.

He threw the blankets aside and jumped out of bed, then sprinted from the room. He was still wearing his clothes, trench coat and all, which he found odd, but it was only a mental note in the back of his mind.  _I must have fallen asleep with my clothes on._ His headache faded as he ran.

Running down the hall, he found the lab and entered through the door.

Sitting on the counter was the quantum destabilizer, shiny and pristine. It looked exactly as he had envisioned in it with only a few minor alterations, such as the extra compartment on the side for the batteries. The end was shaped like a crab claw, and the overall length was about four feet. But there was something off about it; wires trailed from the insides, sparking. Ford ran to the gun and touched the wires. The colored strands were sliced, as though a knife had cut through them. He ran a finger over the gun's wound, tender, like a mother caressing a child's scraped knee.

 _No... how did this happen?_ The body of the gun was cold to the touch. He had no idea how long it would take to fix, but with the threat of Bill Cipher looming, time was the one thing Ford didn't have.

His eyes flickered around the room, desperate to find a tool—anything—to fix the situation. His eyes settled on a red hoodie that was discarded on a chair. A form came forward from a darker part of the room.

The man's hair was an unruly mullet on his neck, and he wore a greasy white T-shirt. His brown eyes were fixed on the floor. He rubbed his hands before clearing his throat.

"Hey Sixer. Bet'cha didn't expect to see me here."

"Stanley?" Ford grabbed the counter behind him, not believing what he was seeing. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd never find you, but when I saw your face on a wanted poster, I got a clue about where to look. I ran into these resistance guys, one thing led to another, and, well... now I'm here." He gave a fearful smile, his hands splayed wide.

Ford's eyes went to the quantum destabilizer, the puzzle pieces clicking together. "Stanley... did you cut those wires?"

Stanley touched his pointer fingers together. "Look, before you get mad, just listen—"

That was all Ford needed. "Listen? To what?" His voice, which had doubled its volume, made Stanley flinch. "To your excuses? Do you have any idea how important this was?" He came forward and gripped Stanley by his shirt, a snarl on his face.

"Ford, I'm sorry!" Stanley was shouting now too. "I just... I just didn't want you to fight that demon guy. I didn't want you to get killed! Let it be someone else's problem."

Ford sucked in a breath, holding in his exasperation. He released Stanley's shirt. When his voice returned, it was low and dangerous. "Stanley... Bill Cipher is a major threat to everyone. If I can't destroy him, who can? You've put everyone, us included, in jeopardy."

Stanley didn't answer. Sullen, he let his hands hang by his sides.

A laugh echoed through the facility. Ford's rib cage contracted as he recognized the harsh voice. He looked to the quantum destabilizer, but it looked back at him like a helpless, wounded animal, its insides spilling out.

"No..." Ford whispered.

"DID YOU MISS ME?"

"How is he here?" Ford looked around, but he couldn't see the source of the voice. He grabbed the quantum destabilizer and held it up on his shoulder despite its awful state. "He can't be here. Show yourself!"

The ceiling opened up like a mouth, giving Ford a view of a dark sky. Two black hands pried the building apart until Ford had a view of a single eye set in a yellow triangle.

"HEYA FORDSY! HOW'S THAT GUN COMING ALONG?"

Ford pulled the trigger out of some vain hope, but nothing happened. He shot a glare at Stanley. Stanley kept to the wall and looked up at Bill Cipher with childlike fear.

"WELP, THIS IS GOING TO BE EASIER THAN I EXPECTED!"

Bill's hand reached out. Ford ran out of the way, barely missing the swipe.

"YOU'RE ONLY MAKING THIS MORE FUN!"

Ford pressed his back against the wall with Stanley. He bent his head forward and covered his face.

"It's over," Ford said. "It's too late now."

"Ford, I..."

Ford straightened and glared at Stanley. "You..." He bared his teeth.

Stanley's mouth curled into a grimace. "Ford, I'm sorry, okay?"

Ford searched Stanley's face, incredulity mixing with anger like powder in a solvent. "I don't care about your apology! For once in your life, just be quiet. Maybe I can still fix this." He turned his attention to the quantum destabilizer in his hands. Reaching for the tools on the worktable behind him, he pieced the wires back together as best he could.

The light at the end of the gun fizzled. Somehow, against all odds, the gun was alive again. Ford felt his chest grow lighter.

The glow illuminated Stanley's face. "Hey, it's okay!"

Ford ignored Stanley as he tried to get at a better angle to hit the dream demon. He crouched and once again put the gun on his shoulder, waiting for a flash of yellow.

A black hand reached into the lab. Ford rolled and dodged the demon's swipe, but Bill wasn't aiming for him—he was aiming for Stanley. The giant hand grabbed him around the middle. Stanley yelped and struggled in Bill's grasp.

"Stanley!" Ford re-aimed the heavy gun and tried to shoot Bill's arm, but the hand pulled away too quickly, and he missed.

The lab and surrounding walls crumbled, as though an earthquake was shaking it apart. Ford narrowly missed the falling debris and came to stand before Bill. The demon was much larger than Ford had ever seen him; whereas he used to be the size of a hand, he was now the size of a house. His single eye looked down on Ford with confidence and glee. He held Stanley in his hand like a doll. Stanley squirmed in Bill's hand, but the demon's fingers were clenched tight.

The surrounding landscape covered in dark forest had been decimated. There were hardly any trees left, and the ones that hadn't been demolished were burning. Heavy, shadowy smoke cloaked the sky. The sun's red tint bled through the haze.

"WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT. YOU GOT THE GUN WORKING AGAIN." Bill seemed unworried by this development, even with Ford pointing the quantum destabilizer straight at him.

"Let him go!" Ford snapped.

"NOT SO FAST, SIXER. IF YOU SO MUCH AS SNEEZE, I'LL SQUISH YOUR BROTHER INTO A MEAT PULP." Bill contracted his fist, squeezing Stanley. He cried out with pain. Ford breathed in sharply. "TELL YOU WHAT, I'M FEELING GENEROUS, SO I'LL MAKE ONE LAST DEAL WITH YOU. DROP THE GUN, AND I'LL LET YOUR BROTHER LIVE."

Ford's grip on the quantum destabilizer slackened. Two arguments battled inside of him, each having their own emotional knives.

_I can't let Cipher kill Stanley. It's over._

He considered letting the gun fall from his shoulder, but something stopped him. It was a stubborn anger, as well as a sense of duty. If he let Cipher have his gun, then there would be no chance for anyone. The multiverse as he knew it, all of his friends and everyone he knew, including countless others that he didn't, would either be enslaved or killed. Bill would bring unstable chaos to whatever dimension he inhabited, destroying each of them one by one. The damage would be unimaginable, possibly ending existence itself.

Ford knew he had to end this, despite his emotional ties. This was his mission, his adversary. It was also likely his fault that Bill was there in the first place. He had to do this despite the costs.

"DON'T BE STUPID, POINDEXTER. GIVE ME THE GUN."

Ford bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. His finger grazed the trigger, but he couldn't press down. Stanley watched him silently, fear written in his wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, Stanley." Ford looked away and pulled the trigger. He heard a crunch and a scream.

The sky dissolved into bits and pieces, turning everything dark. Bill Cipher, Stanley, the burning forest—all of it disappeared into blackness. The gun in Ford's hands disintegrated. The floor disappeared beneath him. He clutched at the air as he floated through nothing.

_What! What's going on? How..._

Memories rushed back to him.

He remembered Archer, the prison, and the simulation.

His palms were sweaty and his heart pounded.  _That was too real._

A white tear opened up in the air in front of him. It was a jagged rip that glowed with an inner light, as though the simulation itself was cracking. Ford was glad for the distraction—anything to get away from the sounds of Stanley dying, now cemented in his memory.

Ford prodded the rip, pulling it wider.  _This must be the work of the virus. I guess Archer wasn't careful enough._ He took one last glance around at the emptiness, still feeling disturbed.  _I'm not sure where this leads, but anywhere is better than here._

Ford stepped through the rip and floated into the white space.

* * *

Gdqj. Wklv fkdswhu zdv gdun.


	23. The Water's Getting Warm

 

I'm back!!! The journey continues.

I apologize for dropping off the face of the earth. The reason I was gone so long is because I have been planning my wedding, which is coming in April. Combine that with school and trying to combat financial difficulties, and you have a recipe for disaster. I've had little time for anything else, and as such, my writing has suffered.

This chapter in particular has been a beast. I completely rewrote two thirds of it, then kept rewriting what I changed. Even now, I'm not completely satisfied, but it's much better than it was. I just had to get it out there. This chapter has been weighing on my mind for the past few months. Once the wedding has happened and everything gets settled into a regular routine, it will be much easier to publish chapters more often. Until then, I'm thankful for your dedication and patience. 

* * *

 

Hannah's gun was locked on them, leaving them with no place to go in the tight hallway. Stanley felt his gut clench at the sight of Hannah's wild face. The hair all over her body was raised, and her black eyes glittered in the low light. Despite the savageness of her expression, an intelligent chill sat behind it—a human intelligence that only served to make her more threatening.

"Get over here, both of you," Hannah growled. "Hands behind your head."

Gunther and Stanley looked at each other. Slowly, with a grimace, Stanley complied to Hannah's wishes.

Hannah took her place behind them and poked the gun into their backs.

"Get walking," she said. "We're already behind schedule."

_This isn't the first time I've been threatened with a gun,_ Stanley thought.  _Funny how life is._ As a traveling salesman, he had rarely received a warm reception. There was a time in Wyoming where a family of farmers had pulled guns on him, threatening Stanley to get off the property at the count of ten. Stanley's foot was trapped in a gopher hole. He lost his left shoe in his escape.

Hannah nudged Stanley with her gun. "Keep moving."

Stanley narrowed his eyes at her.

They exited the thin hallway and entered the main chamber. Guests of all species were lined up in neat rows, kneeling with their heads bowed. When the crowd saw Gunther, their heads lifted and their eyes widened. They were silent, however, with Daran watching them.

Daran had acquired a new blindfold—this one was a purple sweater, acquired from some unfortunate guest. The insectoid alien held a gun in five of his six hands, with the sixth firmly clamped on Amanda's arm.

"Amanda!" Gunther called out. "Amanda, have they hurt you?"

Amanda shook her head.

Daran hissed and turned to face their approach. "So, you found them."

Hannah nodded. "I can't find Terf. I sent him to look for Gunther, but he hasn't been answering my messages."

Stanley had a vivid flashback of the T. Rex roaring, gooey flesh snapping like elastic, and Terf screaming. He shuddered inwardly.

"You—Stanley." Hannah jabbed him with her gun. "Have you seen Terf?"

Stanley shrugged, his palms sweating. "Nope. No idea where he could be."

Hannah growled. "I'll look around for him one more time, but if he's nowhere, then we're leaving without him. Put these two with the others."

Hannah marched off and went down a hallway that led deeper into the library. The sign above that wing read _Updated History of Alien Species (Beginning with Alorin and Ending in Zyllperlorg)._

"You heard her," Daran said. "Get on your knees. Hands behind your back"

Stanley and Gunther joined the other hostages and dropped to their knees. Every eye in the room was trained on them.

"Stanley," Gunther whispered, "just in case we don't survive this, there's something I want you to know."

Stanley glanced at Daran, but Daran didn't seem to be listening to Gunther. Either that, or he didn't care.

"Okay?"

Sweat dripped from Gunther's temple. "I know where your brother is."

"What? Really?" Stanley frowned. "That would've been nice to know earlier."

"He's on the planet Iopedinea in dimension YT-78. Talk to the warden there. Give her the code word  _libertario_ and mention my name. She'll set your brother free."

"He's in prison?"

Gunther didn't look at Stanley. "Your brother is a criminal. He was recently captured, so I had him imprisoned." He frowned and his eyebrows pinched together, his eyes far away, as though he was remembering something unpleasant.

"Wow, Ford in prison," Stanley said. "Never would've guessed." He imagined Ford in the same setting that he was in years ago in Puerto Rico, but with aliens. The idea was both funny and upsetting to him. Yes, Ford was in danger, but it also felt good to know that even his perfect brother couldn't keep out of jail.

"It's the least I can do since you saved my life," Gunther said. "But really, it's a poor thank you. I don't see us getting out of here alive."

"Hey, look on the bright side," Stanley said. "We're not dead yet. Maybe those officers outside will come in and save us."

"I... suppose." Gunther turned his attention to the gathering crowd outside the clear doors.

It was as though every Enforcer in the city had rushed to the library. Bodies in black armor choked the ancient steps and covered the surrounding sandy hill. Air vehicles hovered, their silver hulls focused on them. None of them made a move.

Stanley's hands twitched. He ached for freedom. He also wanted to punch Daran in his sweater-covered face.

When Hannah returned, her gun was lowered and her face was blank with surprise. She came to stand beside Daran and said nothing.

"Hannah?" Daran asked. "What's wrong?"

"I found Terf. He's dead."

Daran took a step back, recoiling from the news. "No, that's... I thought that guy was indestructible."

"Apparently not. He fell into a T. Rex pit. The monster's jaws tore him apart."

"Holy..." Daran shook his head. "Poor guy." Daran's sympathy was quickly turned into frustration. He groaned and stamped his foot. "Oh wait, that piece of  _teomior_! He owed me sixty-seven gwencons."

"Forget it," Hannah said, raising a hand. "Let's leave. Take Gunther. This mission has turned out to be a nightmare."

Daran nodded, then released Amanda's arm. Amanda ran away and watched them warily, as though expecting them to chase her. Daran ignored her, however. He paid her no mind as he walked over and grabbed Gunther by the waist, then flung him over his carapace-covered shoulder.

"Wait! Don't do this!" Gunther shouted. He kicked and wriggled. Daran struggled with him for a moment, then put a few of his guns in a holster belt on his waist. Daran used more of his arms to constrict around Gunther, making it impossible to escape.

Gunther kept shouting as Daran and Hannah walked away from Stanley. "I'll give you anything! Please!" He looked over at Stanley and reached out. "Do something!"

"The time for negotiating is over," Hannah said. "Cooperate, and we'll make your death as painless as possible."

"Hey!" Stanley called out. "Wait Hannah! Can't we talk about this?"

Daran and Hannah ignored him and kept walking. Gunther kept trying to wriggle away even though the effort was futile. He screamed for someone to help him, and the sound echoed from the hall even when they were out of sight.

Amanda had been sniffling beside Stanley, but when they could no longer hear Gunther, a sob rushed up into her throat. She looked down at the ground as she cried quietly, her body shaking with each gasp.

"Hey, hey," Stanley said softly, "Um—Amanda, right?"

Amanda looked up at him, startled. Her blue eyes were red and puffy. A tear traveled down her cheek; she wiped at it and sniffed.

"Yeah, that's my name." Her voice was hoarse. "Who are you? Are you Uncle Ralph's friend?"

"Uh... I guess you could say that. I'm Stanley. I only just met him. I guess we're friends. I mean, he did put my brother in prison, but I won't hold a grudge about that. I'd probably do that too. Not for too long, though. Just a month. I'd want him to see what it's like. Smart guy needs to be educated, right?"

"I... I guess so," Amanda said. Her face was puzzled.

_At least she stopped crying._

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Stanley asked.

Amanda shook her head.

Stanley barked a laugh. "Count yourself lucky. They're nothing but trouble."

This conversation continued, with Stanley asking most of the questions. Occasionally, Amanda would ask her own question. Through talking with Amanda, Stanley learned that her favorite ice cream flavor was strawberry, she had a pet cat named Drew, and her favorite thing to do was take pictures, especially from the top of the CTB tower, because up there, you could see all of the District of Selene. The conversation soothed Amanda. While her face was still red and puffy, she had stopped crying. She even smiled once.

Stanley glanced outside to where the Enforcers stood waiting. A few of the air vehicles were circling the perimeter, but otherwise, the officers were at a standstill as they waited for the doors to open.

_Where did Hannah and Daran go? There's no way they could've gotten out of here. Even if they did find their way past the lockdown, the army of space cops would've stopped them._

Amanda bit her lip. "Stanley, are we going to be okay? Or do you think those aliens will...?"

"Whoa, Amanda, take it easy!" Stanley smiled. "You have nothing to worry about. See those guys out there? They'll break in here and take you back home soon."

"But what about Uncle Ralph? Will they save him too?"

Stanley opened his mouth, then closed it. He frowned and looked at the floor. "Yeah, him too."

The doors at the front of the library clicked and beeped. Every head in the crowd turned to watch as the doors swung open.

Enforcers made their way inside with their guns raised. People and aliens stood, rushing into the protection of the armed forces. Some Enforcers escorted guests in groups, and outside, an aircraft landed for them to board.

"Welp, guess this is it," Stanley said. "It was nice chatting, kid. I'm outta here." Already, Stanley was thinking about where Amy could be. It was likely that as soon as the tambourine powered off, her consciousness had defaulted back to Hannah's ship.

"Stanley! Wait!" Amanda grabbed Stanley's hands, her tone urgent. "Please, can you do something for me?" Her wide eyes searched his face.

"Uhhhh... that depends. What is it?" He felt the outside calling his name, but the child's hands kept him rooted in place.

"Isn't there anything you can do for Uncle Ralph? What about him?"

Stanley looked down at her innocent face, and his resolve wanted to crumble. But he had to keep himself firm. If Stanley were to interfere, no good would come of it. He was a conman from New Jersey—a guy who hadn't even finished high school and had been struggling to make a living with the thing he did best, lying. He had gotten this far on pure luck. Best not to push it. Besides, the sooner he found Ford, the sooner he could forget about this place.

He got to one knee so that he was on Amanda's level. "Listen, kid, you see these guys?" He jerked his thumb at the Enforcers rushing around them. They surrounded groups of guests, then led them out of the library to safety, like shepherds with sheep. "If these guys can't save him, then no one can. There's not much I can do. I'm... I'm not a hero."

Amanda opened her mouth and closed it. Her eyes pleaded with him.

"That's final, kid," Stanley said with a dismissive wave, "I'm done here."

She lowered her head slowly, her eyes dim. Stanley felt as though a heavy stone lodged itself in his gut. He wanted to say something more, but there was nothing else to be said.

_If Ford were here, he'd know what to do._ The thought stung, but Stanley knew it was true. He wasn't the one this situation called for. Already, he had messed everything up by bringing the terrorists there. He had to turn away from Amanda's disappointed face to keep his emotions cold.  _Forget this. I'm getting out of here while I still can._

Two Enforcers approached them with a holographic tablet in hand. One of them took off her helmet, revealing short, dark hair, then got down to Amanda's level and talked with her quietly.

"Hello sir," said the other Enforcer. He removed his helmet and revealed himself. He had a smattering of freckles across his nose and ears that stuck out. "I'm Enforcer Hunt. We're here to escort you out. You, along with everyone else, will be asked to answer a few questions once we get you back to Enforcer headquarters."

"Sure, sure, thanks." Stanley nodded his head, not paying the Enforcer much attention. Already, he was planning his escape. If the Enforcers were to question him, they'd soon discover that he was a criminal that had escaped capture.

_How do I get to Amy?_ He was sure that the ship was still inside one of the glass towers outside the library. They were too far away just to sprint to—not without the Enforcers cracking down on him.

He followed the Enforcers out the door alongside Amanda and a few aliens. Amanda pouted silently as they walked.

The sun was bright above them, sending down waves of heat and warming Stanley's face. Ahead of them, boxy ships landed in the sand, allowing Enforcers to move library guests onto them. The ships then took off and headed towards the city with more taking their place. A dozen or so were in the air, waiting for their turn to land while using their jets to hover.

_I gotta think of something, quick. A bit of stalling couldn't hurt._

When they reached the steps, Stanley doubled over and clutched his stomach, moaning with a pained face. The group stopped. The Enforcers turned to look, alarmed. Hunt ran over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. I just feel sick all of a sudden." Stanley pretended to wipe the sweat from his face. He fell to the ground, then hugged his stomach and cried out with exaggerated theatrics. "Please, I need to go to a hospital." He grabbed Hunt by his uniform and pulled him closer, as though he were trying to push out his final words. "Please. A hospital." Stanley let go of Hunt and grabbed at his stomach again. "Ah! It hurts! I can't take the pain."

The group, which was full of aliens, looked horrified. Amanda, however, raised an eyebrow.

Hunt sighed, then lifted his wrist to his face and spoke into his communicator. "This is Enforcer Hunt. We have a man who's collapsed on the steps. Please send someone up here that can take him to a hospital and check him out. I don't want to risk a lawsuit."

The group carried on without Stanley and Hunt. Stanley peeked at the group as they left. Amanda kept looking back at him, her face curious and skeptical.

Peeking through his lashes, Stanley had a view of the sky and little else. Ships crossed back and forth across it, most of them belonging to Enforcers. There was one among them, however, that stood out. It crossed Stanley's vision quickly—so quickly that he wasn't sure he even saw it.

_Did I just see...?_

He saw the black shape again. The dark brick of a ship descended, coming to rest at the bottom of the steps while the jet engines roared. On the side was the graffiti message,  _Hairy Elbows._

Stanley sat up with a smile. "Amy!"

The group turned around, surprised. Hunt's mouth popped open. He raised his wrist, ready to call backup, but Stanley was already running toward the ship.

"Hey! Stop!"

He ran up the lowered walkway and into the cool air-conditioning. The walkway closed behind him. Soon after, the ship rose into a hover, then took off into the sky.

Stanley walked into the cockpit and sat on the ratty pilot's chair. With a sigh, he leaned back and put his feet on the dash, his hands laced behind his head. "Amy, lemme tell ya, it is good to see you. I was a call away from being arrested by space police. While you've been gone, I've had to deal with a monkey with a gun, a dinosaur, and a man-eating blob monster." Stanley listed each injustice on his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Stanley. Believe me, it wasn't my idea for Hannah to power down the tambourine. I was forced back to this ship, where I've been waiting for a chance to get to you. It was lucky that I happened to see you as I was circling the library."

Stanley sighed and waved a hand. "Hey, it's all good now. We got out, and I got the info I was looking for. I say we take off and start looking."

"Hold on. We can't leave yet."

He sat up straight. "What? Why not?"

"Stanley... aren't we partially responsible for this? Shouldn't we at least try to help? And what became of Ralph Gunther? Did Hannah ever find him?"

"Yeah... the monkey kidnapped him. Said it was for the greater good or something." Stanley rubbed his neck. "Look, Amy, I know you feel bad, but what can we do? I think the space police have this covered. Let's just get out of here while we still can."

Amy hesitated. "None of this would be happening if I had managed to see through Hannah's deception. I can't leave when I know I'm to blame."

Stanley glared at the ceiling. "So you feel guilty now? What gives, Ames?"

Amy gave a long pause. "While I may be an AI, I am still capable of emotions, just like the human I was based on." Her words were sharp.

Stanley frowned, his forehead wrinkling. "Amy, that's not what I meant." Her comment reminded him of all the times that others had referred to her as "the AI" rather than her name-treating her as a thing and not an intelligent being. It bothered Stanley; Amy had always seemed human to him.

"It's fine," Amy said tersely. "It was just a misunderstanding." This ended the conversation about it. He could still feel a tension with her, and it made him uncomfortable. He wondered why she was acting so strangely, but before he could comment about it, Amy went straight to talking about her plan. "My sensors have picked up on a fleet of ships headed for the city. I'm betting they're with Hannah. They're not here yet, but they will be. Already, the Republic Armada is gearing up for battle. While those ships are attacking the city, it would be easy for Hannah and Daran to board a ship and get away with Gunther. I intend to stop them before they leave the atmosphere."

"Um, okay. Does this ship even have guns?"

"Some rudimentary ones. It will be enough."

Every one of Stanley's instincts was telling him to get out while he still could, but for Amy's sake, he ignored them. "Okay, as long as it's quick." He was confident that Amy could figure out a way to hurt Hannah that wouldn't get him killed. Maybe taking revenge on the monkey would make him feel better about the whole ordeal he went through.

The ship circled the library. Stanley watched as all the guests that were kept as hostages leaked from within, emptying the ancient building. Where Hannah, Daran, and Gunther were, he had no idea. It was most likely a sequestered part of the library; it would be easy to hide there among the many different sections-Stanley was pretty sure that the library had  _everything._

Eventually, just as Amy predicted, a black fleet of ships entered the atmosphere, flying just above the skyscrapers of Alexandria. Air sirens raised their warning, rising and falling in pitch. The sound echoed across the desert. A wall of energy rose up around the city, covering it in a bubble of protection. The enemy fleet hammered away at the bubble by dropping explosives from bomber ships, but the force field held strong.

It wasn't long before a silver fleet of ships came in to contend with the Black Sun Resistance ships. Stanley was mesmerized as he watched the dogfights; each side had skilled pilots that performed intense aerial acrobatics. Every so often, a ship would be tagged by plasma and go down in a blaze of fire. With each ship that was shot down, Stanley's resolve to stay weakened.

"Uh, Amy? Are you sure you still want to do this?"

"Yes, I'm sure. This will work."

"Okay, okay. Not that I doubt you, it's just—" Another ship hit the ground, causing a loud explosion that stopped him short. "It's just that it's Armageddon out there."

"There! I see them!"

Sure enough, as they had been talking, a ship had descended to the backend of the library. With most of the library guests taken to safety, and the attention of the Enforcers focused elsewhere, Hannah and Daran were free to escape out a window in the tail end of the library. A black ship rested on the dunes with a lowered walkway to meet them. With Gunther over Daran's shoulder, the two of them boarded the ship. As soon as they were on board, the ship rose into the air and took off, flying just above the sand before gaining altitude.

Amy made the bulky ship press onward, the engines blasting. It didn't accelerate as quickly as the other ship, but it could still move fast. They were on their tail as they left the atmosphere. The ship rattled around Stanley, then went silent as they entered space.

The other ship noticed them on their tail and sped up, but Amy forced the ship to go faster to keep up with them.

"Fire at them, Stanley! Press the red button on the joystick!"

There was a joystick on the dash with a red button atop it, waiting to be used. There was also a tiny monitor under the joystick, which told him that there was a green object in his sights-Hannah's ship. Stanley grabbed the joystick and pressed the button with his thumb.

The two shots of red plasma missed their mark as the enemy ship took evasive maneuvers, veering in the opposite direction. Amy changed directions to match. Stanley was hit with nausea as the stars all flew sideways.

The Earth was now in their vision, a peaceful blue orb wreathed in white clouds. The other ship was up ahead and appeared to be headed for the space above the planet.

From the other ship, two blasts of green plasma were fired from a rear gun. Amy tried to roll to avoid the shots, but the plasma tagged them with a shudder. A warning light on the dash came on. On one of the main monitors, there was a lit diagram of a ship with the wing colored red and pulsing.  _SUSTAINED DAMAGE-DO NOT ATTEMPT FTL TRAVEL,_ read a message below the wing diagram.

"No!" Amy shouted. She reoriented the ship, then chased after them as fast as it would allow.

Stanley looked down at the monitor on the dash and tried to line up the enemy ship in his sights. They were so far away that they didn't even appear on the monitor. Stanley shot at them anyway, missing the mark by a long shot.

"Amy, it's time to call it off," Stanley said. "We can't catch them. They're gonna go into FTL travel any second now."

"Not if we use FTL travel first."

Stanley glanced back down at the diagram of the damaged wing and the obvious warning from the ship. "Amy, I'm no expert, but I think there's a problem with using FTL travel."

"Yes, there's a high risk that the ship will explode, but it's not certain," Amy said.

"Oh yeah? How likely is it?"

"It doesn't matter how small the chance is if it's worth taking."

"Whoa! Amy, hold on a second. I get taking risks, okay? Gambling is fun, but this-this is suicide. Just let them go. There's nothing we can do."

"You don't understand!" Amy snapped at him. Stanley widened his eyes with disbelief; he'd never heard Amy sound so undone before. In that moment, Amy seemed much more human than AI.

"What don't I understand?!" Stanley shouted back. "I'm not an AI, Amy! Doing this could kill me, and you don't even care!"

Amy slowed the ship down.

Ahead of them, Hannah's ship formed a force field bubble around itself. It distorted the space surrounding it, bending the stars in a ring around it. Her ship then took off, out of sight, as though it had never existed. If Stanley would have blinked, he would've missed them leaving.

The band ship continued to slow until it stopped completely. There was silence.

Stanley rested his hands on the dashboard and sighed. "Hey, Ames... I'm sorry they got away. It wasn't going to work."

Amy gave no reply. There was a small sound in the silence. If Stanley hadn't been listening, he would've missed it. It was the sound of soft whimpering.

_I had no idea robots could cry._ Stanley felt a pain in his chest at the sound. He wished that he could put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but there was no way to do so. He patted the dashboard gently; that was the next best thing. "Hey, easy there. Ames, talk to me. What's up?" He wasn't sure what to say. Amy's behavior was confusing him.

Amy's crying quieted. "I'm sorry Stanley," she said in a hushed voice. "I didn't mean to put you in danger. This whole ordeal with Hannah has clashed terribly with my directive to help people. I caused pain and misery here, and I have no way of fixing it."

"Hey, it was an honest mistake," Stanley said. "Those guys are world-class liars. I would've been impressed if you'd caught on to them."

She sighed. "Thank you for the sentiment. However, it doesn't excuse what happened. I suppose I'll always just be a string of codes that can be easily manipulated."

Stanley looked out at the distant stars. He folded his arms and bowed his head, frowning. Negative labels had haunted him as well, defining him and reducing him to an easily digestible image. Criminal, thief, screw-up. Those labels never helped anyone. _You've never been just a string of codes, Amy_.  _Not to me._  Stanley patted the dashboard. "Amy, listen. People are always going to tell you what you can or can't be. They'll tell you that you're not meant to be anything more than what you are. But there's more to us than they'll ever know."

Amy didn't respond.

"Rather than call yourself the AI or a string of codes, call yourself my friend."

Amy gave a weak laugh. "That makes me sound almost human."

"You're more human than you think you are," Stanley said. "Seriously, you keep surprising me."

"Stanley?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you... my friend."

Stanley paused. "You're welcome."

"By the way," she said, "did you ever find information on your brother? That was the main reason why we came here, wasn't it?"

Stanley smiled. "I did, actually." He clapped his hands together and sat back in the pilot's chair. "Gunther is the Republic's problem now, wherever he is. Before he was taken, he gave me some valuable info. I'm pretty sure the moon still has that portal we can use to get back to our ship. Once we do, I know where we need to go to find my brother."

* * *

Vxusulvhv duh dkhdg iru Vwdqohb, dqg qrqh ri wkhp zloo eh sohdvdqw.


	24. Hey Now

Ford drifted through white nothingness until his feet touched something solid. There was a constant light coming from everywhere, and it made his eyes water--the floor, the ceiling, even the walls were a stark white. The only direction he could go was forward.

As he went down the passageway, he noticed that it was oddly shaped; the design of the hallway wasn't logical, with boxy mountains and valleys carving out the negative space. He walked across dips and went past bizarre geometric shapes that stuck out of the walls.

Everything was silent. It was so quiet that it felt as though something had been stuffed into Ford's ears.

The blank hallway did little to distract Ford's thoughts. His mind was drawn to the image of Stanley within Bill's grasp like a magnet. He could still the weight of the gun and the sulfur in the air. His sweaty palms as he aimed the gun at Bill.

As he thought about his choice, the choice to sacrifice Stanley, something in his core felt rotten. It was a sickening feeling that blossomed in his chest. It was the feeling that he had made a mistake.

_No, I made the right choice. There's no reason to feel guilty about that._  But the feeling, however illogical, remained like a bad smell. Another thought cropped up to battle his justifications.  _How could I do that? How could I sacrifice Stanley so easily?_

_Maybe there really isn't a right choice._ He had studied philosophy and moral reasoning. He knew about these types of situations. He had read about the trolley problem. He thought he knew what his answer would be. Now that he had made it once, he wasn't so sure.

_No, I can't get wrapped up in this. This isn't a choice. Focus on the mission._

The end of the hallway opened up into a large room. In the center of the room was a smooth, silver cube that reflected everything around it like a mirror. It hovered in the air, not moving. Otherwise, the room was empty.

Ford came close to the cube. It reflected his torso; his dark blue clothing was a sliver of darkness in the luminescent room. The cube reminded him of Archer's hardware in the real world prison, where a single floating cube was connected to a mess of wires at the bottom of the tower.

_This must be Archer._  He was close to finishing this. He could feel it.

He placed a hand on the cube's surface, but he felt nothing; it was as if he were touching air. Strings of green numbers lit up on the side closest to Ford along with a text box. The text said  _Are you sure you want to assimilate?_

Without hesitation, Ford tapped yes.

Ford opened his eyes. He didn't remember closing them.

He was back in Archer's domain with the same dark, tiled landscape from before. Icy blue light shone in between the tiles, stretching on endlessly into the distance.

Archer's voice echoed from everywhere. "Congratulations on making it this far. Only a few have tried to usurp my authority. I'm impressed with your mind. You were able to look past your family ties to see the logical course of action. You went through that choice simulation fifty times, each with no memory of the last time, and you picked to kill Bill Cipher forty-nine of those times. Really, the way you value your directive over the people you care about is commendable."

"I... went through that fifty times?" Nausea boiled in his stomach.

"Yes, and it should've been more. I would have tested you there indefinitely if I could. It seemed like the perfect loop, but your virus caused a hiccup. But it doesn't matter. You're in my mind now, Ford. This is where I'm most vulnerable to the touch of your virus."

A figure appeared in front of Ford. White pixels formed a lanky body. It was mechanical and robot-like, with a masked helmet instead of a face. The shiny visor of the helmet glowed with blue dots, just like Archer's monitor.

He raised a hand. "But I can kill you just as easily."

Ford yelped as he was knocked backwards by an invisible force. He landed on his side a few feet away. As he got up, he clutched his bruised side.

Something green fell out of Ford's pocket and onto the floor. A gun sparkled up at him. It looked as though it were constructed from glass. He picked it up. When he looked closely, he could see that the gun was made from a mass of green binary; minuscule ones and zeros ran up and down the polygonal design.

_A weapon... I needed to fight back, so the virus manifested as a gun._

Archer watched him with interest and didn't approach. Ford got to his feet, raised the gun, then pulled the trigger.

Archer disappeared. The green blast flew at the horizon instead. Ford turned around, noticing Archer's tall form in the corner of his eye. He fired again, his shot hitting open air.

Archer reappeared directly in front of him. Ford tried to shoot, but Archer grabbed his arm and pushed the barrel out of the way. Ford tried to pull away, but the AI clamped down with inhuman strength.

Ford reached for a solution in his mind. He knew that the rules of reality didn't strictly apply in this simulated world. In this world, Archer was a god. But there was a small dominion that Ford had--the virus. If Archer could manipulate things within his world, Ford could change things in his.

The gun lost its shape, turning to goop in Ford's hands. As it disintegrated, the liquid fell to the floor. The virus hissed as it hit Archer's foot. He pulled away and shook the virus off.

The virus flew back to Ford's hand and rematerialized as a gun. Ford aimed the gun at Archer.

Archer made a sweeping motion with his hand. A ball of blue energy formed in the air, then rocketed toward Ford.

Ford raised the gun, then turned it into a shield. The ball of energy hit the green shield and exploded.

Ford winced as he was pushed backwards, but he kept his footing as Archer lunged at him with a new sword. Ford lifted his shield and blocked the strike. Archer struck again, this time aiming for Ford's legs. He backed away, narrowly missing the swipe.

Archer continued to attack with speed beyond a human's, but wherever he struck, Ford's shield was there to meet him. It was as though instead of having to actually physically block his attack, all Ford had to do was think about it, and the virus would respond.

He changed the shield into a sword and caught Archer's blade mid-strike. Their blades locked. Ford could see his face reflected in Archer's mask; he could see fear and determination in his own eyes. Archer pressed down on Ford's sharp edge with a frightening amount of force. The virus clamped itself to Ford's hands to keep Archer from overpowering his grip.

When no progress could be made, Archer was the first to pull away; he jumped out of reach, then hovered in the air. He outstretched a hand, then clenched it into a fist. There was a cracking sound beneath Ford's feet. The tiled floor began to give way underneath him. He jumped to the surrounding tile just in time to avoid falling into a dark pit. The tiles around him were beginning to give as well. If he didn't do something, he would fall into the black abyss.

Ford dropped the virus on the ground and willed it to turn into something he could escape on. The sword grew, forming a seat, handlebars, and two wheels. A viridescent, see-through motorcycle roared to life. It was sleek, similar to a model Ford had seen a biker use back on Earth. It stood up perfectly straight without a kickstand, defying nonexistent gravitational laws. He'd never ridden a motorcycle, but he figured it didn't matter. If he believed he could ride it in this world, he could.

He didn't have time to hesitate. Ford jumped on the motorcycle and grabbed the handles.

The motorcycle roared to life as though it sensed his presence. He pulled the throttle back and shot forward, racing across the tiles. With the motorcycle, he was keeping just ahead of the falling tiles, but the tiles sped up to match his speed, then overtook him.

Ford closed his eyes, expecting to fall into the pit, but the motorcycle kept going through the open air. He glanced down at the wheels and saw that the motorcycle was placing green tiles under itself, making its own road. The motorcycle ripped through the air, fluorescent in the darkness.

When Ford encountered the ground again, Archer materialized ahead of him, floating in the air and waiting for him to approach. Archer raised a hand. A wall appeared in front of Ford, threatening him with a violent stop.

Ford turned the motorcycle sharply to avoid the wall. Archer raised another wall, then another, creating a narrow passageway for him to navigate.

He gripped the handlebars tighter, eyeing the walls on either side of him. A wall jutted up ahead of him, capping off the passageway. The motorcycle sped toward the block in the path. Ford thought of a ramp, and the virus complied. He went up a green ramp and flew up over the top of the wall.

"Whoa!" Ford felt weightless. His stomach dropped as the motorcycle returned to its regular altitude, slamming the ground.

_I need to strike back!_  A glowing bow and arrow appeared in Ford's hands, a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He nocked an arrow and pulled back the bow string, lining Archer up in his sights. The motorcycle went on unaided, not seeming to need a guide. He let the arrow loose, but Archer knocked it away with a swipe of his hand.

Ford readied another arrow and shot, but this time Archer disappeared from his perch in the air. He reappeared a few feet in front of the motorcycle. Ford tried to dodge him, but Archer attacked the motorcycle, grasping the front and stopping it. The tires spun.

He lifted the motorcycle into the air, then tossed it aside, sending Ford sprawling. The motorcycle disappeared with a flash of light.

Archer sauntered toward him, sword in hand.

An idea came to Ford. The virus liquefied again in response to his thought. This time, it coated Ford's body, making a protective shell around him.

Archer paused for a moment, then swung his sword. The sword bounced off of the armor. Ford smiled at Archer.

Ford stood and tried to approach Archer, but his steps grew heavy. He was moving slower, and for some reason he felt short of breath. He stopped and rested his hands on his knees. It felt as though someone had put a plastic bag over his face.

Archer laughed. "That would be your oxygen shutting off. This was fun while it lasted, but I'm tired of this. At the end of the day, I hold your life in my hands."

Ford fell to his knees, panic attacking his mind. "You... cheated."

Archer kicked him over and stood over him, his helmet glinting in the green light of the virus. Ford struggled to keep his mind clear; coherent thought was fading fast as the suffocation pulled him under. His lungs were working but there was nothing for them to grab.

"The BSR armada will be here soon, I imagine," Archer said.

Ford glared up at him. He was focusing all of his energy on not passing out. Blackness encroached on his vision.

"Thanks for the tip off," Archer said, leaning over him. "Little did they know, I have access to everything you think. Commander Hansek is in for a nasty surprise. I'm going to aim everything this place has at her ships."

Ford's next action had no thought, only instinct. He mustered his strength and pushed himself up. He created a sword in his hand. With one last mighty thrust, he stabbed Archer through the middle.

Archer's hands splayed in surprise. He stumbled and clutched at the sword poking through his chest, his form flickering and glitching.

The sword dissolved into numbers and crawled up Archer's body. His torso turned green, and the virus spread from there.

"No!" Archer screamed, falling to his knees. His avatar tore itself apart, bits and pieces of him turning green and breaking off of him. Within moments, he was nothing more than a bunch of green pixels floating into the nothingness.

The dark environment around Ford turned white, glowing brighter until it was all he could see.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

A bright light stabbed Ford's eyelids. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Ford, wake up," Typher said. "We have to go.  _Now._ "

He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Typher's face. His eyes were dark and sunken. He undid Ford's restraints with quick, anxious movements.

_He looks as tired as I feel._

The metal band around his neck was the last thing to come off. Ford pulled his hands free from the chair and massaged his wrists. He rubbed his eyes next, bumping his glasses out of the way. His mind felt groggy, as though he'd just woken up from a deep sleep.

"Typher... what's wrong?"

"Archer is toast. Everything's been disabled. I'm guessing you have something to do with that." He glanced behind his shoulder. "All of the prisoners are escaping. We need to go too. I don't wanna be here when the BSR arrives."

Typher backed away as Ford shakily climbed out of his cell. He stumbled forward, then put his hands on the railing and looked below. Archer's hardware, the chrome cube, was no longer floating. The surrounding wires sparked. Smoke curled up from somewhere among the mess.

On the walkway, surges prisoners brushed past him, all of them eager to get to the exit. There seemed to be no pattern to the political prisoners; they were aliens of many different types. Ford and Typher weren't the only humans among them, either. A man with gray hair and bald crown limped past them, his leg twisted at an odd angle. Despite his uneven stride, he kept a quick pace. He gave Ford and Typher a brief glance, then kept on his way without looking at them as though looking to avoid a conversation. Ford marveled at how many political prisoners the Republic had sent to this place. He wondered what they had all done to be there, or how long they had been there. As the crowd rushed past him, he felt a chill run up his back and a sick feeling sat in his chest. What other corruption was the U.I.R. hiding?

Ford turned to Typher, who was using the wall as a support.

"Are you going to be okay?" Ford asked.

Typher grimaced. "I'll be fine once I'm off of this planet."

Ford and Typher followed the other prisoners, making their way up a flight of stairs. Neither of them spoke of the simulation.  _Perhaps not speaking about it will allow us to forget it faster_ , Ford thought. Still, Typher seemed oddly silent. Ford had expected a question from him about how he won against Archer, but instead, his attention was focused inward on a battle that Ford couldn't see.

"Typher, why did you leave the BSR?" Ford asked quietly. It was probably a sensitive subject, but he had to get straight to the point.

The question, though direct and abrupt, did not surprise Typher.

"Simply put, they're not the heroes they pretend to be. They've wronged me too many times."

"How? Is this about your father?"

Typher stopped walking and so did Ford. Most of the prisoners had left the building, with only a few stragglers left behind helping their friends out of their cells.

Typher turned to face Ford, looking even more exhausted than he had before. Ford was surprised that he was even standing upright. Ford could feel his own fatigue setting in as well, but he knew it was nothing in comparison to Typher's.

"They're no better than the Republic," he said. "They've killed innocent people and held others prisoner all in the name of justice. Republic people, always humans. Some of them were my friends. There was one, another pilot that I knew at the academy. They captured him and starved him. They were trying to get him to spill what he knew about the Republic's plans. He didn't know anything. When I found him..." Typher's voice caught as he was pulled into recollection. "What they did, it wasn't right. He died soon after." He stood and turned away from Ford, sniffing and wiping his face on his leather jacket sleeve. He shook his head. "What they do is more about Hansek's petty revenge than it is setting the multiverse right. But I don't care about what they do now. I just want them to leave me alone _._ The sooner this place is a memory, the happier I'll be."

Ford noticed that he had skipped over talking about his father, and he wondered why. Perhaps the memory was too painful for him. As for the rest of it, he didn't know what to think. Hansek hadn't seemed that ruthless to him, but then again, how much did he really know about her and her organization? All he knew was that she had seemed eager to have him complete this mission, not so much for Typher's sake, but for the sake of their cause. An earlier Ford would've been suspicious of Typher, but Ford knew that he had no reason to lie. If Typher thought that Hansek was a cruel being, then she likely was.

"Okay," Ford said. "Let's go." Typher looked up and nodded. There was nothing more that needed to be said; they had both come to an understanding without words.

When they got to the top of the stairs, they heard shouting and guns being fired. Ford and Typher peeked in from the doorway and saw that they were too late. One of the BSR ships was on the landing pad outside. Commander Hansek came through the glass doors and strode across the room. Her fish-like face was set in a fierce scowl. With her height and her black military jacket, she was an imposing figure.

In the lobby, a few rebels had their guns pinned on the warden and the other workers. A rebel was dead on the ground beside them, his corpse smoking from a shot of plasma. Rebels held the warden and the others from behind. They clamped restraints on their wrists.

"Aw shit," Typher whispered. He pulled away and clamped a hand over his eyes. "Too late."

"Hansek will be looking for me," Ford said. "I might as well show myself. We're supposed to be allies. I can cover with a lie. I could say the simulation was too much of a stress on your mind, and you went insane. I'll offer to fly you back to your family, as well as explain what happened to them. We'll walk right past her."

Typher raised an eyebrow. "Do you think we can both pull that off? Are you a good actor?"

Ford shrugged. Thinking back on it, he hadn't been much for lying. He had usually relied on Stanley to make things like this work when they were children. But with everything that had happened, Ford was confident that he could channel his emotions and appear downtrodden.

Typher sighed. "I wish I had a better idea. Let's do it."

They entered the entrance together. The lights were turned off, but a bright light from outside shone through the windows.

Commander Hansek stood off to the side of the room with a gun in her hand. She faced four people that were kneeling on the ground, their hands handcuffed behind them. There were two Enforcers there with Lynn Avery and Candice. A tiny stream of blood trickled down the warden's forehead. Candice was kneeling beside her, the tears on her face gleaming in the light of the window. She sniffed quietly. One of the rebels had a recorder up, just like the one that the Shreep had used.

"Commander," Ford said.

"Ah, Stanford." Hansek did not relax her pose, but her face became more jovial. "I was about to send someone in to look for you. I didn't doubt that you'd survive. And I see you found Mr. Ayden." Hansek's eyes shifted over to Typher. Typher kept his face blank. He looked around, staring into space. With one hand, he absently picked at his jumpsuit. Hansek saw this and narrowed her eyes.

Ford's shoulders lowered as he looked at Typher. "Well, not entirely. Typher's mind didn't escape the prison."

Hansek's eyes widened. "I... that is..." She turned away, her eyes searching the floor. Her gun lowered a fraction. "I thought we would reach him in time. I'm sorry, Stanford."

_So, she really does care about her followers._

Given what Typher had told Ford about Hansek, he was surprised to see her legitimately sorrowful about Typher's insanity. But Ford supposed that even though Hansek could be brutal to her enemies, it was different with her followers, even past ones he supposed. To them, she acted like a strange mix of a neighborhood baseball coach and a military leader.

"It might give us some peace of mind to know that this mission will be a success," she said. "We couldn't have done it without you."

Ford glanced at Lynn Avery and the others. "What do you plan to do with them?"

"To give them what they deserve," she said grimly. She raised her gun. The rebels beside her raised their weapons as well. All of them pointed their guns at the prison employees.

"Hansek, wait!" Ford reached out a hand and Hansek paused. "What are you thinking? I know they may not be completely innocent, but murder? That's going too far."

Hansek was calm, as though she was expecting this reaction. "The Republic has destroyed hundreds of civilizations to expand their empire. This is nothing in comparison." She gestured to her prisoners. "Do you think that Gunther batted an eye when the Shreep were destroyed? We need to stop that from happening again, and this is how. These people are helping the destruction of alien civilizations by holding the political prisoners that could help stop it. This is justice."

"That's bullshit and you know it." Typher stepped forward.

_What are you doing?_  Ford gave Typher a pointed glare, but Typher ignored him.

Hansek lowered her head, and she smiled despite the accusation. "Still sane, I see. I'm glad you're mind is still with you, Typher. That's one less thing I have to live with."

"Stop it, Hansek," Typher growled. "Every time you open your mouth, you manipulate and you lie. Your underlings are just your pawns to use and throw away. Even now, you're using us. When I was captured, you could've easily overwhelmed the Enforcers that night, but you didn't. It was all designed to give Ford the motivation to do this, wasn't it?"

Hansek mouth slowly lowered into a frown. "It was a calculated risk. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. But I would never think of my followers as pawns. Each one, you included, is important to me. We may have let you be captured, but I always intended to rescue you."

"What?" Ford took a step back. "Do you have any idea what he went through?"

"Come now, Stanford, it was only for a week. And look at this! Don't you think it was worth it? We took out one of the worst prisons in the multiverse and freed many innocent beings. Not only that, but when we're done, this prison will never be in operation again. That's a lot of good. Sometimes, the few have to be sacrificed for the good of the many, even if we care about them." Hansek's voice wavered as her emotions rose. With every fiber of her being, she seemed to believe what she was saying. Or maybe she needed to believe it to keep the guilt at bay.

"Don't act like you're doing a good thing here, Hansek," Typher hissed. "You  _enjoy_ hurting U.I.R. citizens. I've seen you in action. You're sadistic."

This comment seemed to get under Hansek's skin like nothing else had. Her mouth twitched and her shoulders went rigid. "How dare you level that kind of accusation at me. I  _saved_ you!" Hansek's voice reverberated off the walls. "We all need justice for what they've done to so many. My friends, my family-they treated them like  _rats_! They create viruses, then spread them on planets to weaken them. And later, when they're accused of such, they hide everything. They oppress and they ignore. It can't continue." Hansek raised her gun and aimed it at Avery. Avery grimaced and stared down the barrel of the gun.

"Make a move and you'll regret it, hypocrite." The lines on Typher's face seemed extra deep; it was as though old memories were clawing at him, trying to get out.

Hansek turned her gun on Typher. "Stay back."

"You can't command me. I'm no one's soldier anymore." He had no fear of Hansek's gun. He acted as though it wasn't there. "This wasn't about peace. The only thing you've ever cared about is getting your revenge."

Hansek stared Typher down. "You're wrong. You just can't see this for what it is." She jabbed her gun at the prisoners. "This is progress."

Ford set his jaw. He could see Hansek's side more than he would've liked. Hadn't he had the same logic when deciding whether or not to pursue the gun or look for Stanley? But while watching the two argue back and forth, his mind was made up. Hansek was so blinded by her hatred for the U.I.R. that it led her to hurt innocent people. While he had no special love for these captives, he knew that it wouldn't be right to let them be murdered. Hansek's rage had to be stopped now, or it would get out of hand in the future.

"Don't do this, Hansek," Ford said in a menacing voice. "I  _will_ stop you."

Avery gave a cold laugh, startling them. "It doesn't matter. You fools have spent all your time arguing. The Republic reinforcements are already here."

Through the window, many silver ships were approaching on the horizon. An orange sun set behind them, making them glint.

"Damn," Hansek snarled. She raised her wrist and spoke into her bracelet, her words breathy. "All Resistance members need to prepare for battle immediately. Head for the ships. The Republic Armada is on its way."

Beyond the window, Ford could see a shipyard. Among the large Resistance ships taking off, he could see the tiny  _Supernova,_ sitting there like a bird among rhinos. The  _Maverick_ was among them as well, seated more to the edge.

Hansek left through the blasted doors and joined the BSR in the shipyard.

One by one, the BSR ships lifted into the air and hovered away. They grew distant as they headed in the direction of the Armada.

Ford looked to Typher. "Are you all right?"

Typher nodded. "Yeah. I'm good." He seemed shaky and tired, but otherwise okay. He put his hands on his hips. "What should we do with these guys?" Typher tipped his head toward the prison workers.

"Leave them. The U.I.R. will find them soon enough."

The four prisoners were silent, but Avery had a smug grin.

"Come on Ford! I don't want to kill them, but I think some retribution is in order. At least let me draw on their faces with a marker."

Ford raised an eyebrow, his eyes half-lidded.

"Okay, fine. I get it." He lifted his hands up in surrender. "But before we leave, there's something I have to do."

"What is it?"

Typher didn't respond as he went back to the prison room and stood at the edge of the walkway, his backside to Ford. Ford heard a zip, which was followed by a stream of yellow liquid that plummeted to the ground far below on Archer's hardware. "Take that, you robot asshat!" he yelled.

The few prisoners still in the chamber cheered, raising their fists.

"All right the rest of you," Typher shouted, "get out of here! The U.I.R. is on their way."

Typher came back to Ford with a satisfied smile. Ford pressed his lips together in a flat line, visibly disgusted, but said nothing.

Ford walked to the reception desk and looked through the drawers, then found a sleek laser gun. Ford flipped the power switch, and the gun responded with a satisfying him.

They followed the last of the prisoners to the shipyard. Already, several of the large, boxy prison carriers had taken off, heading for space in the opposite direction of the Resistance and Republic's fight.

Near the horizon, four large Resistance ships contended with the smaller ships of the Republic Armada. The Armada ships darted in and out while the Resistance ships struggled to have the same agility. Ford could make out flashes of green and blue and a few explosions. One of the Resistance ships exploded in a burst of light, the debris falling to the ground in chunks.

"I really hope Hansek was on that," Typher said.

"Hey!" a woman's voice shouted from behind them. An Enforcer had landed her ship in front of the prison. She had just exited her ship and was now running towards them, gun in hand.

"Crap. Run!" Typher said.

They both sprinted to the  _Maverick._ Ford felt like his body was fighting against him. Each of his limbs felt like they were weighed down by lead.

Ford raised his gun and fired at the  _Supernova_ as they passed. The shot had hit a vulnerable spot, making that part of the ship burst into flames. The flames spread, and once they were passed it, the ship exploded, stopping the Enforcer in her tracks. She covered her face with her arm and fell backwards as the flames engulfed the metal wreck.

Typher typed in the code to enter when they came to the  _Maverick's_ back entrance. They were just beginning to climb the walkway when a flash of blue light smashed into Ford's extended forearm, the one holding his gun. The force knocked him over, and he hit the walkway.

"Ford!"

Typher's firm hands grabbed Ford and lifted him into a standing position, but he was barely aware of that. All that mattered was the stinging pain consuming his arm.

Through his ringing ears, Ford thought he heard Typher say something, but he couldn't make it out. Ford hobbled inside the  _Maverick_ with the support of Typher's shoulder and sat down. Ford held his tender arm and squeezed his eyes shut. His forehead was cold and dewy.

"Don't move," Typher said tersely.

He ran to the cockpit room and disappeared behind the door. Soon after, the ship buzzed with life and rose into the air. There was a jolt of acceleration as the ship took off.

Ford leaned back against the wall of the  _Maverick_ and focused on taking in slow breaths. His coat sleeve had been burned away, and the skin underneath was red and charred. All he could focus on was the feverish warmth and the pulsing, aching heartbeat.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed until Typher returned, bandages in hand. He stabbed a syringe of clear liquid into Ford's arm. He winced at the needle's poke, but seconds later, all he could feel was a dull warmth. Ford sighed with relief.

"Easy there," Typher said. "You're not patched up yet. I've only numbed you." Typher sprayed the wound with a bottle of a medication Ford didn't recognize. He then peeled apart a bandage that looked like a piece of skin and stuck it over his wound. Last, he wrapped his arm loosely with a white gauze. "Can you make it to a chair?" Typher asked.

Ford nodded, then got to his feet. Although he couldn't feel his wound, his body was still reacting to the sudden stress. He felt shaky and a bit queasy. When he finally got to his chair, his head was spinning. He placed a hand on his forehead.

Sooty clouds rushed past the window as the  _Maverick_ flew upwards. The ship picked up speed, shaking as it broke through the atmosphere and into open space.

Ford opened his eyes, his vertigo subsiding somewhat.

"Could've been worse," Typher said in the chair beside him.

"Do you mean my plasma wound or the prison experience as a whole?"

Typher breathed out through his nose in a laugh. As he looked out at the stars, his smile faded.

"Who do you think will win that battle?" Ford asked.

"Honestly, it doesn't matter," Typher said. "No matter who wins today, the BSR and the Republic will still exist, and they'll just keep on fighting. The Republic is so vast, I don't think they'll ever get rid of it. I don't even know if I want them to." Typher folded his arms, his face thoughtful. "When I first joined the BSR, I was idealistic. I thought we could change everything. My dad... not so much. For him, it was more of a matter of principal. It didn't matter if we changed nothing. He just had to fight against what he knew was wrong. My dad died before he found out about Hansek's true nature, thankfully."

Ford approached the topic of Typher's dad gingerly. "How did your father pass away?"

Typher didn't seem to mind the question, but he was slow to answer. "Hansek trusted an informant that she shouldn't have. I tried to tell her as much. She made me feel like a fool. When my dad and I went out on our mission, the informant sold us out to the Enforcers. In the following skirmish, an Enforcer tagged my dad with a lucky shot to the chest." Typher frowned and closed his eyes as the memories came back to him.

"And your jacket... it's your dad's, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Typher glanced down at his worn, faux-fur leather bomber jacket. His fingers went to the RA patch on his chest. "I wear it to remember him by. He was a pilot for the Republic Armada, like me. He was retired. I rebelled after I found out they wanted me to drop viruses on alien populations."

"What was his name?"

"Rhett."

Ford nodded slowly. "He sounds like a great man."

"He was." Typher leaned back in his chair and breathed out a sigh. "It's all in the past now, though. And hey, before I forget to say it, thank you. You've gotten me out of prison twice now. I owe you." Typher smiled at Ford. "I expect you're still looking to fight Bill Cipher?"

"That's right. The beginnings of the quantum destabilizer are still at the BSR base, though."

"That's not a problem. Do you have a friend there?"

"Yeah, her name is Cynia."

"I can get into contact with her," Typher said. "I'm sure she'll be willing to send us the gun."

Ford nodded, thinking enviously of the lab that he now had to abandon. If only he could take something like that with him. The gun would be completed so much faster.

"What about after that?" Typher asked. "What do you still need?"

"Supplies and a place to build," Ford said. "I just don't know where to go."

"I know a few places." Typher looked at the ceiling in thought. "Hell, I have some machine know-how. I could even lend a hand."

Ford raised his eyebrows. "Really? With your help, I could be finished with this weapon quicker than I thought."

Typher shrugged. "It's the least I can do."

Ford looked at the stars twinkling beyond the glass of the cockpit. Each one was so distant, suspended in the void. Despite the vastness of space, he didn't feel overwhelmed with it. Not with his friend, a seasoned intergalactic pilot, by his side. But he also thought of Stanley, stranded somewhere among them, and a lump formed in his throat. It was too easy to remember Archer's test, as well as Hansek's words. He no longer wanted to postpone looking for Stanley. There was no telling what kind of danger he could be in.

But the thought of the unfinished quantum destabilizer still pressed heavily on his mind. Although Archer's test felt more like a dream now, he could still feel the panic of meeting Bill Cipher unprepared.

"Hey, what's up?" Typher said, noticing Ford's conflicted expression.

"It's my brother," Ford said. "I need to know that he's okay, but I have no idea where he is. I can't spend time looking for him either."

"Hmm..." Typher said as he thought. "That's not too difficult. I have a friend that's good at tracking people down. He's done it for me once. What if I pay him to look for your brother and give him a message from us?"

Ford sat up straight. He didn't know why he hadn't considered that possibility. "That could work." He felt a prick of excitement and relief. This way, he could do both. He thought for a moment about what he wanted to tell Stanley. "Have your friend take him somewhere safe. Tell my brother that I'll join him again once I've defeated Bill Cipher. We'll both go home together."

* * *

Li rqob wkhb kdg vshqw wzr pruh gdbv rq Lrshglqhd. Vwdqohb zrxogq'w kdyh plvvhg wkhp.


	25. You'll Never Know if You Don't Go

Stanley reclined in his chair as he looked out the cockpit window of the  _Caduceus II._ He folded his arms and studied the nebula ahead; there was little else to do. The nebula had a name, but when Amy listed off the string of numbers and letters, Stanley opted for calling it simply "the creepy eye" because of its almond shape. The outside was tinged with orange, while the pink inside was circular, like an iris.

Stanley sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Stanley," Amy said.

"It's okay Amy, it's not your fault," Stanley said. He sighed and looked down. "How were you supposed to know that the prison would be an abandoned wreck?"

"Yes, I suppose we missed the attack by just a few days. Whatever destroyed it had a powerful antimatter bomb."

When Stanley and Amy had both arrived on Iopedinea, nothing had remained of the supposed prison that Gunther spoke of. At first, Stanley thought that there had been a mistake, but upon closer examination of the burned out ruins, he was able to find an electronic tablet that had a record of all the prisoners. Ford's name was among them. Stanley had searched the ruins, but only a few uncrecognizable bodies remained. There were also wrecked Republic and BSR ships a few miles off. Now that they were in space again, Stanley had no idea what to do.

_What if we were too late to save him?_ Neither him nor Amy could find any recognizable remains in the ruins of the prison-just a few bodies of strangers-but they those could've been destroyed as well.  _No, Ford can't be dead,_  Stanley snapped in his head. _He's too smart for that. He would've found a way out._

He sat back in his seat and looked to the right at the empty co-pilot chair. His frown deepened.

Stanley leaned forward and folded his arms on the dashboard, resting his head on top. "So what now?" His voice was muffled, and his throat felt tight as he spoke. A mix of frustration and hopelessness battled inside him for dominance.

A minute passed. Amy didn't answer.

"Ames?"

The pause lengthened.

"Amy, are you okay? You're creeping me out."

"No. Something's wrong. There was a ship on the radar, but it disappeared."

There was a sudden movement, as though the floor had been shoved sideways. Stanley almost fell out of his seat as the metal of the ship groaned. With a flicker, the lights went out. A single red light came on overhead. Otherwise, the ship was silent and dead.

Stanley stood and looked out the windshield at uninhabited space. "What was that?!"

There was no response from Amy.

"Great." Stanley grabbed the gun sitting on the dashboard and flipped the switch. With a high-pitched whir, the gun came to life, filling the cockpit with purple light to combat the red.

Stanley left the cockpit and entered the main body of the ship. His only idea was to go to the belly of the ship in an attempt to find the antimatter collision chamber, which is something Amy had mentioned to him only in passing during their travel. He didn't know what it would look like or how it worked; all he knew was that it powered the whole ship, and if he could somehow restart it, then maybe the ship would come back to life.

There was a single elevator in the main body of the ship that would take him to the lower depths. He entered it, the circular door closing around him. The elevator descended, darkening.

_I hope this works,_ Stanley thought as he left the elevator. He entered an empty storage room. There was a single door ahead of him.

The door slid open and Stanley walked through. There was a short, dark hallway with another door at the end. Stanley went though this and found himself in a circular room. Wires filled the room, draping the walls and surrounding machinery. In the center of the room was something that looked like a giant egg with a series of pipes extending from its surface. A soft glow came from the egg, so the room wasn't completely dark, but nearly so.

_This looks important._

There was a pathway carved around the egg. Stanley walked the path in a circle.

_There's gotta be an on-switch around here somewhere._

A crash sounded from the top floor above his head. Stanley ducked, then hid behind the rectangular bulk of some machine part. He looked above him, straining his ears.

The sounds continued. Footsteps trudged around the top floor, then made their way to the elevator.

Stanley got behind a large piece of machinery and held his gun up, aiming it at the closed door. He didn't know what was aboard his ship, but if they entered the room, they were in for a nasty surprise. Stanley would go down fighting.

With tense muscles, he listened to the sounds around him. Everything was quiet.

Then all at once, a chorus of noises startled Stanley. It was as though the ship were a living, breathing organism that had just come back to life. The room buzzed with mechanical noises, and a chugging sound started up from the egg. The lights came on.

There was a snap from outside the room. He recognized it as the sound of the elevator door shutting.

Footsteps pattered outside the door. He could hear a conversation between two deep, guttural voices. Their words were clipped, terse, and husky, as though they were speaking mostly with their throats. He couldn't make out any of the words.

Stanley's palms broke out with sweat. He licked his lips and readjusted his grip on his gun.

The door slid open, revealing two beefy lizard men. Their scales were green, like a tree monitor's. Their striking yellow eyes scanned the area. Their heads swiveled with jerky movements, like a bird inspecting new territory. Stanley only had an instant to observe the creatures before he pulled the trigger.

The plasma launched at the aliens. With reflexes bordering on precognition, the lizard on the left ducked, letting the bolt of plasma crash in the wall in a shower of sparks. The alien raised his gun in retaliation, but didn't fire. The two retreated from the doorway before Stanley could shoot again, letting the door close behind them.

Stanley waited a few seconds for the pirates to return. The seconds turned into minutes. After several minutes, Stanley lowered his gun. Heat was building inside his red hoodie. He listened for the pirates, but couldn't hear anything.

He debated on a new course of action. He guessed that the aliens were responsible for bringing the lights back on. They were probably pirates, and if that were the case, they would try to steal the ship. But what the aliens did-simply leaving when they knew full well that Stanley was there-felt wrong. It was as though they didn't consider him a threat.

_Since the power is back on, Amy will be up and running. I'll bet she has a plan to get rid of these suckers._

"Amy!" he shouted. There was no response.

He frowned.  _Maybe she can't hear me from here._

Stanley lowered himself from his kneeling position and waited. He kept an ear out just in case this whole thing was an elaborate ploy to get him to drop his guard. As the minutes ticked by, he stared at the gun in his palms, noticing the warmth that radiated from its core. It reminded him of a hot glue gun. The warmth was a small reassurance-a promise that if the aliens did come back, at least he could fight fire with fire.

He jumped when the egg in the center of the room erupted with a buzzing sound. It was so loud that Stanley covered his ears.

_The chamber thingy must be back on._

Stanley's nerves did little to take the edge off of his impatience. He could still hear footsteps up above him.

_I wonder why she's not doing anything. Maybe she needs help._

Stanley edged away from the noise to the door. The door slid open, revealing an empty hallway. With a bit of apprehension, Stanley shouted again. "Amy!" When no voice answered him, he pushed forward into the next room, his gun raised.

Stanley gritted his teeth and moved into the elevator. Somehow, he needed to figure out what was going on without getting captured. He hoped the aliens weren't waiting just outside the elevator doors on the upper level, ready to ambush him.

When Stanley came out of the elevator, his gun raised. He narrowed his eyes at his surroundings. No one was in the main body of the ship.

_Maybe they took what they wanted and left._

Stanley inched toward the cockpit. The automatic door didn't slide open. He knocked on the door with a tentative wrap of his knuckles.

The door slid open in response. The two pirates were on the other side, staring at him with their deep-set eyes. Stanley jumped back, his finger on the trigger, but he wasn't quick enough. One of the lizards slashed at the gun with its claws and knocked it from Stanley's hands.

"Left hook!" Stanley's fist struck one of the lizards in the jaw, but it was like punching a statue. Stanley yelped and rubbed his hand.

The lizard men lunged forward and grabbed Stanley by the arms. He tried to twist from their grasp, but they pulled him into the cockpit as easily as two linebackers would a child.

They pushed him over, pressing his face into the cold, hard floor. A pair of scaly hands pinned his arms behind him and held his wrists together in a single grip. Stanley yelped at the pain in his shoulders. A knee pressed into his back. While the one alien held him in place, the other went to the dashboard and flipped a few switches. Stanley glared at the one holding him in place.

"Listen fellas, I'm a Republic pizza delivery guy. I'm actually on my way to a cater for a meeting with the high council. If I'm not there, they'll come looking for me."

The lizard growled, its forked tongue slipping over its pointed teeth. "I have never heard of the Republic, but they will be conquered by us in time." He lifted Stanley's wrist and sniffed his translator. "Inferior translation technology. If this is an example of the Republic's scientific achievement, then they have much to learn."

Something wasn't right. He didn't know what was wrong with Amy; she hadn't said a word, and he knew that she would've acted against the pirates by now had she been active. He needed a clue as to what was happening. Stanley had no experience with this sort of situation. Every time Amy had disappeared, she was always somewhere nearby, waiting for him to find her again. This time, he wasn't so sure.

"What did you guys do to my AI? She's not talking. Why?"

"We excluded your AI from the ship's system," the lizard at the dashboard rumbled. His voice was a combination of a hiss and a grunt. "It will have to bypass a series of passwords before it can regain enough control to even speak. The password-cracking process will take thousands of years."

Stanley was taken aback by the pirate's reply. "Thousands of years! Oh, you're gonna get it now. As soon as I get control over my ship back, you're all done for."

"Do not speak." The lizard holding him wrinkled its snout. "You are now our slave. From this point on, you will answer to us or die."

"What gives you the right? Who are you guys?"

"Silence!" The lizard brought his clawed hand down on Stanley's cheek. Stanley cried out and scrunched up his face, squeezing his eyes shut. "We are the Mularians. We conquer all we see. And now, you are a part of our army."

Stanley didn't open his eyes. He felt blood drip around his mouth. The wound on his cheek ached and pulsed with heat, competing with the pain in his shoulder.

Things were spiraling out of Stanley's control. No course of action he could come up with seemed likely to work. All he could do was watch as the Mularian at the dashboard messed with the controls.

A white light appeared outside the cockpit window. The lizard man grabbed the ship controls, guiding it forward.

After the bright light, a pale green leaked into the room. Stanley could just barely see the pea green sky in the top section of the window from his angle.

_Ew. If a sky could be sick, it would look like that._

The floor vibrated against Stanley's face as the ship landed. Once the ship was powered down, the lizard holding Stanley yanked him up into a kneeling position, making his shoulder scream in protest. With watery eyes, Stanley got to his feet. The tip of a gun was pressed into his back. The message was clear-try anything and you will die.

Stanley's eyes moved to the window. The lizard shoved him, turning him away, but Stanley managed to catch a glimpse of what was outside. From his quick look, Stanley saw that the landscape was a kaleidoscope of colors, as though someone had poured liquid rainbows on the entire planet. It was a beautiful, jagged landscape, as though the entire place had been constructed of cubes.

When Stanley was marched outside, he got a better look at the area. The ground was gravelly and colorful; it crackled beneath his boots. The ship had landed at the bottom of a canyon with walls made of colorful crystal. Spires made of rectangular fractal shapes jutted out from the ground and dotted the path.

Stanley weaved in between the stacks of perfect cubes, following the Mularian ahead of him. The Mularian behind him kept his gun pressed into Stanley's back. As they walked, Stanley wiped his stinging cheek with his uninjured shoulder. A tense silence fell between them.

"So," Stanley said, "do you guys have names, or should I just call you Lizard Man One and Two?"

"How dare you address-" the lizard behind him began. He was cut off by the one walking ahead of Stanley.

"No, it's all right," he said without turning his muscular back. "He will learn. I am Rika Nikaberak, the leader of this camp on this planet, and that is Reathkomandu."

"Nice to meet you, Rik," Stanley said. The lizard behind him hissed. "So, I have a few questions about this whole 'army' thing. What kind of operation are you running here?"

"See for yourself." The lizard stopped and turned his head to Stanley. Up ahead, dozens of gray bunkers sat side by side in a valley. There was a larger facility a ways off with hundreds of ships parked in neat rows beside it. The ships were all different; some were bulky, some were small and sporty. A few of the ships were sleek and green. Above his head, Stanley saw the  _Caduceus II_ fly over on its own, then lower to the fenced-off shipyard.

_How did it do that on its own? Unless Amy... no, that doesn't make sense. She wouldn't do that._

Stanley was marched into the midst of the bunkers. A group of prisoners passed him, walking in unison. The rows of alien faces stared at Stanley with sad, knowing eyes. A Mularian walked behind them with an electric whip; he would crack it every few seconds. This Mularian had a red scar across his chest, and he seemed bulkier than the others, which was an accomplishment since they were all muscular. His eyes locked onto Stanley. Stanley narrowed his eyes and refused to lower them as he walked by.

They came to the door of a bunker that was larger than the rest in the center of the encampment. Rik pulled open the door and walked inside. Stanley followed, and as he did so, he was hit with a rotten smell that made him cough. The place was dusty and dimly lit, with the only light coming from a single window. Rik approached the lockers on the side on the room and searched through them, then came back with a gray jumpsuit in hand.

He held the stained garment out to Stanley and Reathkomandu released his arms. Stanley rubbed his shoulder looked the jumpsuit up and down. He took it and grimaced.

"Put it on," Reathkomandu said.

"Now? Don't I at least get a little privacy?"

Reathkomandu didn't answer.

Stanley sighed and peeled off his layers of clothing.

Stanley was painfully aware of Rik and Reathkomandu's eyes on him as he changed clothes. Rika stared at him.  _Perverts,_ Stanley thought, pulling on the gray legs of the jumpsuit. Before he could continue, Reathkomandu stepped forward and poked Stanley's uninjured shoulder blade. It felt as though the alien was evaluating him like one would a piece of meat, testing the bulk, density, and freshness of his muscles.

"You have a brand. Does another race own you?"

Stanley's face grew warm. "Um, no. It's just a tattoo I thought was neat."

He pulled the arms on and zipped up the front quickly.

_Not the first time I've been in a prison jumpsuit. These guys have no idea who they're dealing with._  Even though this was more of a slave army deal, Stanley was confident that he could survive it.

_Besides,_ he thought,  _it's not like I'm staying in this dump. First chance I get, I'm escaping._ He was sure that if he managed to get back to his ship, Amy would've already found a way around the Mularian's restrictions. After that, the two of them could leave and... well, Stanley wasn't sure. He felt a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach as he remembered he had no leads on Ford's location. He refused to believe that he was dead.

Rik left and came back into the room with a bracelet in his hands. He knelt at Stanley's feet and clamped the cold bracelet around his ankle. Rik stood again, towering over Stanley. The alien was at least an intimidating seven feet tall.

"If you leave, we will know," Rik said. "And if you leave, you will be punished."

Stanley swallowed. "Uh, okay then. No wandering off. Won't do that. Nope." Already, his mind was trying to hatch ways to ditch the ankle bracelet. He'd gotten rid of a couple in the past.  _Ha, and these aliens think they're so sophisticated._

"It's time to adjust to your new life. Reathkomandu will lead you from here."

They left the bunker and walked across the path to a different bunker. Reathkomandu pounded his fist on the door. It slid open, revealing a similar interior to the one they had just left, except this one had bunks lining the walls. The bunks were empty; the only other being in the bunker was a smaller, more willowy Mularian. This Mularian also had the addition of a frill on top of its head.

"Greetings, Atheko," Reathkomandu said. "This is our newest recruit, 2569. She will show you how we do things here." Reathkomandu left the bunker, leaving Stanley alone with the new bipedal lizard. Atheko fixed Stanley in her sights as though he were something to eat.

"So, you're a girl lizard?" Stanley asked, trying to break the awkward silence. "My translator picked up a  _she._ "

The lizard cocked its head and blinked. "I'm not sure what you mean by  _girl."_

"You know, woman, female, opposite sex... not sure how else to describe it."

Atheko stared at Stanley in silence long enough that he became uncomfortable. "Your translator is poor. Mularians have three sexes, but I am sure they are vastly different from your understanding of chromosomes. However,  _she_  will suffice."

Stanley wasn't sure how to respond to this. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"I am the leader of this bunker," Atheko said. "You will answer to me. If you deviate from my rules, you will be punished. The schedule will soon be made clear to you. The other members of this squad will be returning from their mission soon. If your species requires sleep, you will choose a bunk and sleep for five quentans. Training will begin afterwards."

Stanley nodded. He had no idea what a quentan was, but at this point, he was too afraid to ask.

Behind Stanley, the door to the bunker opened. He moved aside as rows of aliens marched in, the scarred Mularian coming in behind them. Stanley tried to stay out of view.

The group was covered in shimmery powder, this planet's equivalent of dirt and grime. Many of them sagged with exhaustion. A few of them glanced at Stanley, but said nothing.

Atheko stood tall as she faced the group. "How many died?"

"Six," an alien at the front said. "The phalazypterix was hungry."

"That's disappointing." Atheko lashed her tail. "There was a larger portion of weak soldiers here than I thought."

The scarred Mularian cracked his whip. "All right, you  _vricknas_ , if you require sleep, get to your bunks."

The group scattered, all of them claiming a bunk. Stanley followed, climbing up a ladder and sitting on the scratchy blanket. The Mularian nodded, then left the bunker.

Atheko slammed the door, leaving the bunkermates alone with each other. Quiet chatter started up.

Stanley hung his head upside down to look at the alien below him. This alien was blue, with a strange armor plating running down the middle of his face. The alien blinked at Stanley slowly, his eyelids moving sideways.

"Hey, do you know how long a quentan is?" Stanley asked.

"You're new here, aren't you?" The alien said. "If I were you, I wouldn't worry about it. You won't live long enough to care."

"Thanks," Stanley muttered. "What's your name?"

"Lavnon, but the beings here refer to me as Tire Treads. It's my... nickname."

Stanley tried not to smirk as he looked at Lavnon's face, which now that he mentioned it, looked exactly like his face had been run over by a truck, leaving tire treads on his face. "Oh, um, that's..."

"Call me Lavnon. I don't care for that nickname. There used to be a human here, and he named me that. Phil, I think his name was. I don't even know what a tire tread is. Is it a derogatory term?"

"In this case, yes."

"Oh, that's a relief," he said sarcastically.

"I'm Stanley. I was just captured today." Stanley straightened to keep the blood from rushing to his head. He rested his chin on his folded arms. "What about you? How did they get you?"

"I was doing a business deal out in the Dajaron star system. Like you, we were ambushed. None of us escaped."

"So... what's the deal with this place?" Stanley asked. "What are they doing this for?"

"They're getting ready for war," Lavnon said. "I heard that it has something to do with the demon in the Nightmare Realm. He's been more active than usual. Some say that he's even disappeared from his in-between dimension. Every intergalatic government in the multiverse is terrified. I guess these beings are no different. The Mularians are preparing, just in case the yellow demon comes knocking."

Stanley remembered his encounter with the one-eyed triangle and shuddered, remembering how close he'd come to being captured. "You mean Bill Cipher? That guy's the worst."

"Don't say his name," Lavnon snapped.

"Uh, sorry? I guess. What's the big deal, anyway?"

Lavnon rolled to the edge up his cot and looked up at Stanley. "You really don't know? Where are you from?"

"Dimension 37... no, 47'\," he recited.

"I would ask how you got here, but I'm not that curious." Lavnon disappeared beneath the bunk.

"My brother built a portal," Stanley said. Memories of the few moments before everything was turned on its head came back to him. He could still see Ford's terrified face as they both sank into the white glow of the portal. "There was an accident."

"I said I wasn't that curious."

Stanley ignored him. "I think that my brother... he talked with Cipher. I still have no idea what was really going on. He never told me anything about it."

Lavnon paused. "Your brother met the  _king_  of the  _Nightmare Realm_?"

"Yeah. I met him too. He tried to kill me."

"Really? Huh... Impressive. Well, if you've faced down that yellow demon and lived, you'll probably survive longer than I gave you credit for. There's not a whole lot to live for now, though. Whoever isn't dead by the end of training will be when they meet the yellow demon."

Stanley leaned back and rested his head on his cot. The bed was missing a pillow and a blanket, so he curled up on the bare padding that acted as a mattress.

He ran a hand over the cut on his right cheek. It was still painful to touch, but it had scabbed over. He closed his eyes, willing the knots in his stomach to relax.

_Could be worse,_ Stanley thought. Still, his prospects didn't seem bright. He had no idea what would happen in five quentans. Maybe living through an escape attempt would be far trickier than he thought.

* * *

Ilyh txhqwdqv htxdov dssuralpdwhob wkuhh krxuv dqg iliwb-wzr plqxwhv.


	26. You'll Never Shine if You Don't Glow

Stanley fell into line, walking with the other members of his bunker as Atheko led the way. The second, smaller red sun was rising in the sky, cresting over the edge of the mountains with the yellow sun. Stanley's shadow gained a faint twin, as did everyone else's. As he looked at the shadow's double, his chest felt hollow.

Lavnon glanced at him and nudged him with a hand. "Hey, are you all right?"

Stanley waved a hand. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I hope that's true. I heard that for this practice, Atheko is planning something special. That can only mean one thing."

Stanley nodded, scowling. Although he'd only spent a short time there, he knew exactly what that meant: someone was going to die.

Atheko and the other Mularians liked to test the strength of their soldiers. They believed that thinning the herd left only the best standing. From what Lavnon had said, they would often be sent on missions to test their skills; many of them didn't. come back from these excursions. The only reason Lavnon, an alien with no fighting experience, had survived this long was because of his natural thick body armor.

"Have you thought about my offer?" Stanley said quietly to Lavnon. They both glanced at Atheko, who was focused on some crab-like creatures with too many legs and pointy spines burrowing in the distance. Stanley wasn't sure how good the lizard's hearing was, so he kept his voice soft just to be safe.

"I've thought about it," Lavnon said. He scratched his neck with his claws. "Problem is, too many things could go wrong. I'm not sure I'm prepared to die for this, Stanley."

"But this is freedom we're talking about."

"Getting back to your ship-that's tricky. Those ships are guarded day and night. I don't see a way to do it."

Stanley expelled a breath. He turned his head away and glared at the dirt.

"Believe me," Lavnon said, "I want to get out of this. We just have to wait for the right moment."

"If we keep waiting for the right moment, we'll be waiting here forever," Stanley said.

Lavnon didn't respond.

Crystal spires surrounded them on the path. The gritty sand crunched under Stanley's boots, and his plasma rifle smacked his back as he walked.

More than once, he had considered shooting Atheko while her back was turned, but Lavnon had said that the Mularians had amazing reflexes, and many could hear plasma coming while also reacting quick enough to dodge it. They also had their own way of dealing with unruly prisoners. Rather than kill them, they tortured them until they were docile and useful again. Apparently, they had a one-hundred percent success rate.

The rocky landscape around them softened into multicolored dunes of sand. The spires from behind them cast long shadows over the ground, like dark fingers. A few clouds hung in the green sky; Stanley half-hoped that it would rain. The Mularians had no concept of what a shower was. His own smell was hard to live with, let alone some of the aliens in the bunker.

Atheko stopped. The prisoners turned, lining up to face the open dunes.

Normally there would be practice dummies, like old crates or filled bags, set up in the sand. This time, there was nothing waiting for them. The eyes of the group flickered up at Atheko, questioning, but they were too frightened to hold her gaze for long. They waited in silence.

The lizard paced in front of the line with her arms behind her back. When she passed by Stanley, she was so close that he could see the individual scales on her uncovered shoulder. He kept his attention fixed firmly on the clouds in the distance.

"Today, our training will be different," Atheko said. She passed by Stanley and stood in front of Lavnon. "I've heard tell that there are seeds of rebellion in this group. I want to make one thing perfectly clear." Stanley looked up and met her yellow, slitted eyes. "None of you will ever leave this place without my command. You are under my control now-nothing you do will change that. It is in your best interest to serve the Mularian empire. You will not survive unless you do. I will spend this training session making that clear to you." Stanley narrowed his eyes at Atheko. She exposed her teeth; it looked like a cross between a snarl and a smile. "Today, all of you as a team will be fighting me," she said.

The others looked at Atheko in stunned silence. There was only one among them, a creature with red eyes, blue skin, and a long fuzzy tail, that sprinted at her immediately. He pulled a knife from the belt on his waist and raised the weapon high.

She seemed to be expecting this and sidestepped, letting the alien jab his knife into open air. He twisted around to face Atheko again, but she swept him aside with a brush of her muscular tail. The blow caught him in the stomach and launched him into a sand dune.

Some of the aliens pulled their plasma rifles from their backs while others drew their knives. There were also some that didn't need a weapon at all. There was an alien among them that was three times as large as the rest of them; the creature had bulbous muscles and horns like a ram on its head. There was another, a spider-like alien that wore goggles on its hairy head, that could spit purple, acidic jelly and did so at Atheko, missing every shot as Atheko spun to dodge the attacks.

The ones with knives converged, surrounding Atheko in a circle, but Atheko dodged every knife swipe. She retaliated with her own attacks. Her tail, her claws, and her teeth flashed everywhere, knocking weapons from their hands and striking them down. The aliens collapsed one by one into the sand. The large ram alien ran at Atheko with a bellow, but Atheko rolled out of the way of the creature and hopped on its back. With her claws, she clambered up until she was at its head. With one hand, Atheko swiped at the creature's right ear. Purple liquid seeped from the shredded ear as the creature lifted his head back and cried out. Atheko went for the other ear, and the creature stumbled about while clutching what remained. When the alien fell to its furry knees, Atheko hopped off with grace like a leopard and strode forward to her next opponent, an alien that looked like it was constructed out of lumpy pieces of rock.

Every blast of plasma missed her; her movements were too quick to predict. She drew close to the rock creature, then pushed the weapon aside. Then with a movement so quick Stanley could barely see it, she snapped the rock creature's arm off. It plopped in the sand. While creature howled, Atheko picked up the gun. Aiming at a group of aliens with guns, she fired.

Each of her rapid-fire shots hit a non-vital part of each of their bodies, like an appendage or a shoulder. Every alien in the group fell to the dirt.

Stanley was one of the last ones standing. Lavnon had moved away from the chaos, and he was now cowering behind a sand dune. They were the only two that hadn't fought Atheko. Everyone else was sprawled in the sand, defeated, but alive.

Atheko and Stanley stared at each other. It seemed as though Atheko was challenging him with her gaze, goading him into attacking first.

Stanley made no move toward her. He already knew that he was no match for her in strength or speed. He would still try to beat her, of course, but his legs hesitated to move forward, as though they had a mind of their own and resisted going into a futile fight.

Atheko flared her nostrils, then turned her head in the direction where Lavnon was hiding. She abandoned Stanley and hopped onto the dune with a single leap, a knife brandished. Lavnon jumped and scurried away.

"Hey, get away from him!" Stanley lifted his plasma rifle and aimed down the sights.

Before he could pull the trigger, Atheko's attention snapped to him. He pulled the trigger, but she rolled to the side. The plasma kept traveling and hit Lavnon in the torso. Lavnon stumbled backward while clutching his wound, then fell over, his back hitting the sand. Smoke rose from his fallen form and curled in the air.

"No!" Stanley cried out. He lowered his gun, his eyes wide with shock.

Atheko sprinted to Stanley, and before he could regain his composure and lift his weapon again, she pushed him over. The shove rammed him in the chest and knocked the wind out of him. He was lifted off his feet by the force of the blow. He landed in the sand, dazed. Atheko kicked his rifle away.

Atheko leaned down and closed her claws around his neck. Stanley tried to pull her hand away, but it was like stone.

She lowered her snout until it was inches from his face. Stanley moved his head away from Atheko's breath; it was a mixture of jerky and a mouth that had never seen toothpaste.

"You-all of you-are an inferior species," she said. "There is no one in this multiverse who can stand up to a Mularian in a fight. You are no exception."

Sweat formed on Stanley's forehead and his lungs strained against the lack of air. He could feel his neck bruising under Atheko's tight grip. He thrashed, but couldn't free himself. It was only when he began to see dark spots at the edge of his vision that Atheko released him.

He rolled to his side and sucked in a breath that rattled his chest. With trembling fingers, he touched his tender neck and grimaced.

"I expect you all to obey me without question," she said to the scattered group. "The Mularians are bested by no one. From now on, there will be no rebellion. I don't want unruly soldiers, so I will offer you all a choice: join us or die. Come with me, or wander the wastes of this inhospitable planet. Any insubordination will be crushed swiftly."

Stanley rolled to his feet and stood. He wanted to get up quickly so that he could appear to be stronger than Atheko gave him credit for. Atheko gave him a measured look, waiting for a response.

He gritted his teeth. "You're crazy if you think I'm staying here."

"Very well," Atheko said. She flicked her tail. "Does anyone else want to join him?"

Many of the aliens stood up from their places in the sand, some of them holding wounds. Most of them came to stand near Atheko like lost sheep. There were only two in the pack that stood apart. One was tall and dark green, reminding Stanley of a goblin. By his side was an alien that looked like an aardvark mixed with an armadillo. It had six blue eyes and an armored shell that was bright orange. From the smaller alien's anxious shivers, Stanley guessed that the only reason he had rebelled at all was because of his goblin friend.

The two aliens came and stood next to him. With each of them by his side, Stanley stood taller, feeling more confident in his decision.

Atheko scanned the group, then nodded. She turned from them and led the larger group of aliens back to the camp, marching out of sight among the crystal spires.

Movement from a nearby sand dune caught Stanley's eye. It was Lavnon, who got to his feet, shaky, but alive. Stanley's jaw dropped. The blackened area of chest where the plasma had hit him was reduced to a circle the size of an orange rather than covering his entire torso.

"Lavnon?" Stanley said as Lavnon made his way towards him. "Man, Lavnon, I thought..."

Lavnon scratched at the charred place on his chest. Black dust fell from his skin. Underneath the charcoal, his skin was its normal blue. "Yes, my species has a form of cellular regeneration, as well as a resistance to heat. Plasma usually isn't an issue. It's just painful. It's something I try to keep a secret so that I always have the upper hand."

Now that Lavnon had joined him, they were a group of four.

"Where do we go from here?" the small alien said, blinking its six blue eyes.

"Hey, this option was death, remember? Don't expect too much of me." Stanley folded his arms. "I'm not the leader of this outfit."

"That's great," the goblin alien said. He dragged his four-fingered hands down his face. "I can't believe I followed this idiot."

"Well, I do have an idea," Stanley said. "Sort of. I've been cooking it up since I got here. It's not great, but it's something."

"Do you mean your idea to steal back your ship?" Lavnon said. "I'm sorry Stanley, but I stand by what I said before."

"You guys, honestly, it's not like our chances of survival are much higher out here." Stanley gestured to the sandy wasteland. "Atheko dropped us out here because she knew that there was no way to live. No food, no water, nada. I don't know about you guys, but I'm going down fighting, not starving in the desert. Besides, this plan isn't as hopeless as Lavnon says. We just need a little luck-my specialty."

"What is the plan, exactly?" the aardvark alien said.

"And your name is?" Stanley asked.

"Teo."

"Right. Okay, first, to get into the shipyard, we have to create a distraction. I'm thinking we bait one of the monsters to attack the shipyard. The guards will be so busy with it that they won't notice us sneak in. After that, we find my ship and fly out of there. Is everyone in?" Stanley stretched out his hand, putting it in the center of the group. The aliens stared at him and shuffled around, suddenly uncomfortable with the strange custom he was presenting them with. "Um... you guys have seen a team cheer, right?"

"Not at all," Lavnon said.

"You put your hands in the middle and raise them like this. Go team!" Stanley raised his hand into the air.

"I'm in," Lavnon said, putting his hand in the middle.

The others nodded their assent and put their hands in.

"All right then, let's get to work. Go team!"

Together, they raised their hands and cheered.

<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>{}<>

Night settled over the crystal wasteland. From a ledge, Stanley and Lavnon overlooked the camp resting in the valley. With his poor eyesight, Stanley couldn't make out much, but he could faintly see rows of blobs marching in and out of the rounded structures.

"Lavnon, tell me what's going on down there," Stanley said. "My eyes are, uh, tired."

"Nothing new. The lights will be out in exactly five zetzans and twenty-two sqwitsqwats."

"Wow, you're like a clock," Stanley said. "How do you know that?"

"I've been here for ten yityans. By now, I have Mularian camp rhythm wired into my being. It never changes. Their  _methods_  never change."

"What do you mean?"

"They've been acting the same for eons. Mularians boast of their strength, but their crucial flaw is that they don't reproduce quickly. There are only so many of them, so they depend on abducting aliens for their armies. Because of this, they've developed a technique to bend soldiers to their will that's been ingrained in their culture, and it never changes.

"What's the technique?" Stanley asked.

"Displays of dominance. Humiliation. Erasing your individual identity. You've probably noticed some of that already." Lavnon wrapped his arms around his knees.

Stanley thought back. From the moment he met the Mularians, they made it clear who was in charge. Stanley still had a gash on his cheek to remind him. He picked at his jumpsuit and frowned. The humiliation, their attempts to destroy his individual identity, he had felt all of it. Stanley's stomach already felt hollow from his skipped meals, and Lavnon's words didn't help.

"Hey Lavnon, what does  _vrickna_  mean?" Stanley asked, trying to distract himself from his empty stomach.

"I guess there's no equivalent in your language. It's a cross between the dirt under your boot and slave. Atheko taught that to me personally." He rubbed his wrist, as though remembering a past wound.

As silence fell between them, Stanley looked up at the alien night sky. He was never a fan of stargazing. At least, not like Ford was. Ford would spend afternoons reading books about space while Stanley itched to go outside. In fact, the only constellation he knew was the Big Dipper, and that was only because Ford had pointed it out to him, its place in the sky prominent enough to always remember. He wondered for a moment what kind of sky Ford was seeing. What was he doing while Stanley fought to escape? Was he even still alive?

_Stop it,_  he thought, rebuking his own doubts. _Ford's alive. He wouldn't have gone down like that._

The lights in all of the bunkers were extinguished at once. The lights beyond the camp in the shipyard, however, were still brightly lit, and would remain that way until morning. Stanley squinted at the indistinct light. Each light would be emanating from a globular sphere that looked a bit like a giant egg sac. They would be poised on tower structures throughout the shipyard.

"Let's move," Stanley turned to Yada and Teo behind him. They were talking to each other in hushed tones. "Hey Alpha Team, time to go! Let's bring home the bacon."

"Um, bringing home bacon wasn't a part of the plan," Teo said.

"What's bacon?" Yada asked.

"Forget it." Stanley pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just go through with the plan like we talked about, okay?"

Yada nodded, and together the two climbed down from the ledge, disappearing out of sight.

Stanley left the ledge in the opposite direction, heading toward the shipyard with Lavnon following behind him.

The gravelly rock seemed to crunch louder than normal as Stanley walked. He kept an ear out, listening for any distressing sounds coming from the direction of Alpha Team, but he heard nothing. The quiet unnerved him, but he knew that no news was good news.

On this planet, there was a single, tiny yellow moon that was oddly misshapen, like a battered baseball. It lit the path ahead as they made their way down the ridge. Stanley walked carefully, watching so that his foot didn't slip. He had cut his hands by slipping down some rocks earlier and wasn't keen on repeating the mistake.

When they reached the bottom of the ridge, they waited by the edge of the fenced shipyard.

They were rewarded by the sound of a large creature shrieking in the night.

Stanley spotted Teo and Yada as they ran down the ridge. Behind them, a gigantic form rippled as it chased after them. They were fast enough to keep ahead of the beast as they ran to the shipyard fence. The phalazypterix was a creature with six muscular legs and a long, serrated tail. Its mouth was circular with row upon row of teeth, like a leech. The mere sight of it disgusted Stanley, but there was no other creature he knew of with the same bloodlust.

Yada threw Teo's balled up form over the fence, then climbed up himself and hopped over. From his place hidden behind a crystal pillar, Stanley watched as a beast the size of a bus ripped through the fence like it was toilet paper.

"Go go go!" Stanley ran from his hiding spot and slipped through the new hole in the fence, Lavnon running behind him. He pulled the plasma rifle from his back and glanced around just in time to see Alpha Team sneak out the same way they came. At an aforementioned rendezvous point, they would wait for Stanley to retrieve the ship and pick them up. Meanwhile, the phalazypterix was distracted with the ships; it went through a line of ships, easily knocking them over and ripping them open. It sat down and gnawed on the nose of a blue ship like a dog with a new toy.

Stanley passed ship after ship, searching for the familiar orange and white of the  _Caduceus II_. Lavnon had his weapon raised with confidence, but from his jerky movements and paranoid head swivels, Stanley could tell he was terrified.

The  _Caduceus II_ eventually appeared, sandwiched between two larger ships, and a sigh of relief escaped Stanley. He ran to the side door and unlocked it, entering the airlock. After he opened the second door to the interior, Stanley ran through the dark insides to the cockpit. The recognizable environment instilled a sense of comfort in him. He entered the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's chair. Lavnon waited in the main body, standing guard.

There was a screeching outside. Rough Mularian voices shouted with alarm.

"I think the Mularians are fighting the phalazypterix," Lavnon said. "We should have at least five minutes before they're finished with it."

"Great. Now, if I can just turn the ship on, we should be good to go," Stanley said. He fiddled with the instruments, pressing the button that he knew ignited the engine, but the ship stayed silent. With his face growing warm, Stanley pressed several random buttons-his usual problem-solving method. Nothing happened. "Amy? Amy! Where are you? We have to get out of here!"

The ship's lights turned on, and the bowels of the ship hummed to life.

Amy's voice filled the room. "Systems powering on."

"Amy! You're okay! I thought... you know what, it's not important. Let's get out of here. I can explain things on the way."

"Unauthorized access. Please state your identity." Amy's voice was devoid of emotion.

Stanley widened his eyes. At once, several things clicked into place. The blood drained from his face.

"What did they do to you?" he murmured. "It's me. Stanley."

" _Stanley_  matches nothing in my database. I also sense no commanding officer is present. All trespassers will be detained until further notice."

The doors to the ship locked shut. Stanley felt the weight of his enormous mistake beginning to press on him; he felt as though it would sink him into the dirt, where he would never rise.

"I thought you said you could get this thing flying!" Lavnon barked. He raised his plasma rifle, ready to blast his way out of the ship.

Stanley stood up from his seat and swallowed. "Amy," he said weakly, "don't you remember anything?"

"Unauthorized access. Detainment in progress."

The robotic words were like a slap to the face. Stanley pressed buttons on the dashboard, his throat closing up. "Did they wipe your memory? You can't tell me that you don't remember. What about everything that happened? You're still Amy! You're not just a... they can't..." Stanley stepped away from the controls and laced his hands through his hair _._

"It won't budge!" Lavnon's voice had turned high-pitched and squeaky.

Lavnon's panic snapped Stanley back to the situation at hand. He ran to Lavnon and raised his gun as well. He felt as though his body was operating separately from his mind, and at that moment, his body was intent on surviving while his mind was just along for the ride, still reeling from Amy's cold greeting.

"That's our only way out!" Stanley said. "Let's hit it together. One, two-"

Before he could say three, the door slid open.

Three Mularians in black body armor stood in the airlock, armed with nothing but their clawed hands. Stanley shot at one, but the plasma bounced off of the Mularian's breastplate.

Lavnon joined in, shooting the Mularians while he backed away from them. The Mularians moved faster than Stanley could process. One of them grabbed the tip of Stanley's rifle and pointed it at the ceiling. After firing a couple of useless shots, the lizard swept its tail at Stanley's feet, knocking him to the floor.

When Stanley's back smacked against the floor, he groaned and rolled to his side. Beside him, Lavnon struggled with a Mularian on the ground. The lizard pinned Lavnon, then threw his rifle away. The lizard that Stanley was fighting did likewise. Stanley was moved to his stomach and his arms were pulled behind him. Even with all his strength, Stanley couldn't even wriggle from the hold, and he wheezed under the Mularian's weight.

"This is not surprising, 2569. I knew rebellion sparked behind your eyes." Atheko stood behind the Mularians with guns, her arms folded. Her face seemed unreadable and unchanging since she didn't have the same facial expressions as a human, but from her words, it seemed as though she was gloating.

The Mularian beside Atheko spoke up. "If these  _vricknas_  are under your command, what would you have us do?"

"This one is strong," Atheko said as she looked at Stanley. "They are all strong, even the ones that ran from the shipyard. Let us give them each one last chance. I would hate to dispose of good warriors." She stepped forward and placed her foot on Stanley's cheek, pushing his head to the side. She put her whole weight on that one foot. Stanley breathed in sharply as his head was squeezed, pain lancing through his temples. " _Vrickna_ , join us or die," she growled.

Stanley strained against his captor's grasp. He stretched his fingers to reach for the knife on his belt, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't touch it.

_I can't win this fight._

A dark, icy feeling sat in Stanley's chest, colder than the most lonely asteroid in space. He was in a void, forgotten and unknown. He had fallen through the cracks with no one to look after him but himself. Losing Amy had reminded him of how alone he actually was in the multiverse. The aching that he felt inside threatened to overwhelm him, the aching that he always tried to ignore for the sake of surviving just one more day.

His luck had finally run out.

"So, have you made your decision?" Atheko asked.

Stanley pressed his teeth together. There was something inside him that ignited, burning slow and quiet, like smoldering coals. It would make sense to give up, but a stubborn will to fight was a part of the very fabric of who he was, and he'd never be able to change it. A decision had been made, but it wasn't the one Atheko was expecting.

_These lizards think they can push me around. They think I'm their property. They're wrong. I don't know how I'll get out of here. I don't know if I even can. But I will never stop trying. I'll find a way to get Amy her memories back, somehow._

But he couldn't resist openly-not yet. Like Lavnon had said, he just needed to wait for the right time.

"Okay, you've won," Stanley said. "I'll join you. All hail the Mularians."

* * *

Pxoduldqv duh vnloohg zlwk frpsxwhuv dv zhoo dv zlwk frpedw.


End file.
